


Faded

by TyChou



Series: Faded [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Comedy, F/M, Gen, Hydra's making zombies, Oblivious Steve Rogers, Some Romance, Tony Stark gets in everyones business, bruce just needs a hug, chapter 8 you have unlocked character Thor, part domestic/part doing spy adventure stuff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-10
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-10-25 20:58:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 100,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17732552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TyChou/pseuds/TyChou
Summary: After the events of Winter Soldier: Steve is still looking for Bucky, a desperate Hydra is conspiring to build an unstoppable army of undead soldiers, and Tony is demanding to know why the coffee at SHIELD has suddenly gotten so bad.





	1. Bean Sludge

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Note: This fic was a summer project I embarked upon in 2014 after seeing Winter Soldier. I nearly made it to the end and then developed an odd anxiety about working on it and had to put it down for four years. After Infinity Wars came out, I tackled it again and finished it. It's posted on FF.Net under “Coffee Girl” which is a title I never really liked. Please enjoy “Faded”. I had a lot of fun writing these characters for the first time.
> 
> This takes place after Winter Soldier, but SHIELD did not completely disband. They are still around and rebuilding the organization from the ground up in attempts to make sure any Hydra sleeper agents and bugs are completely wiped.

****Faded** **

****By: Ty-Chou aka Ghost of the Dawn** **

****Chapter One: Bean Sludge** **

 

 

 

**Day 1**

 

“Nick? You don't mind if I call you Nick, do you?”

Director Fury looked up from the screen where he was trying to concentrate. Next to him stood a certain genius billionaire playboy philanthropist, quite too close for comfort.

“Director Fury, if you please, Mr. Stark,” he replied with no small amount of annoyance in his voice.

“Nick, listen, I've got some very bad news for you.”

All of Fury's annoyance was instantly forgotten. Tony Stark may not have been anywhere near his favorite person, but he, unfortunately needed the man. With the failure of Project Insight and all the security leaks, SHILD was on tight shutdown. New protocols were in place to ferret out any enemy agents that still might be hiding among their ranks. As much as they tried to purge their workforce,

there was no guarantee Hydra's eyes and ears weren't still hiding in the shadows. Fury had nowhere else to turn but sources outside of SHIELD to rebuild his computer programs and security systems from scratch.

That's where Tony Stark came in. SHIELD offered him a fat contract and several donations to other charities to personally see to a full system restoration and security upgrade. And since he had been commissioned for such a serious task, Fury was all ears when Tony came to him with this news.

“This coffee? It's horrible,” Tony said seriously a faded mug in his hand.

“There's a Starbucks down the road,” Fury snapped back. “Now, what's the bad news?”

“That _is_ the bad news,” Tony insisted. “This coffee: awful. No, you know what? It's worse than awful. It is vile swill unworthy of human consumption. It is the rankest bean sludge I have ever put in my mouth. It-” He paused when he noticed Fury's extremely annoyed expression. “You really should be more concerned about this. This is clearly a sign that there is still something very wrong in your organization.”

Fury tipped his head, jaw set to hold in his temper. Had he known he would have to look at Tony Stark's infuriating face so often, he would have hired someone else. “You have five seconds to explain that to me before I kick your ass out of my control room.”

“You see, Nick-” Fury rolled his good eye. “-I have been here for the past five days, right? And so far, every single day there has been morning coffee for me and it has tasted fantastic. Quite possibly some of the best I've ever had. But today, today was a nightmare for my taste buds, as I so stated before. So you see my concern.” He held up his mug, as if expecting the direction to taste it for himself.

Fury only continued to glare, obviously not getting whatever point Stark was trying to make.

“Inconsistency!” Tony barked. “There's a hiccup in the system! You know, if you kept your eyes- well, eye- on the small things like this, then maybe so much wouldn't have gone on right under your nose.”

Fury's eye widened with rage, but it took a moment before the words finally made it out. “Get the hell out of here!”

Tony Stark's body was next seen stumbling out of the main control room as Fury shoved him into the hall. His mug sloshed the offending coffee onto his shirt and the floor.

“Fine,” Stark said, “but the next time an evil terrorist organization infiltrates all aspects of your little club, don't come crying to me to fix the mess.”

“Go!” Fury ordered with venom,and Tony scooted quickly down the hall.

It was then Fury noticed there were two other agents standing at the door. Neither looked happy to be there.

“What?” he demanded.

Natasha Romanoff leaned against the wall, looking extremely fatigued and grouchy. She held a steaming white mug in her hand.

“This coffee tastes like ass,” she said in a scratchy voice.

“And you?” Fury demanded of the tall, blond man standing next to her. “Are you here to complain about the coffee, too?”

Captain Steve Rogers had a small, perplexed frown on his face, but no coffee mug in hand. He stood with uncertainty, arms folded, as if he weren't comfortable in his own body.

“I'm... just having a very off day,” he finally said.

Fury sighed loudly and turned his back on them. “I don't have time for this shit. I have work to do.” He closed the door in their faces.

* * *

 

 

Tony lounged in the large meeting room he commandeered as his office during his occupancy of SHIELD headquarters. Feet propped on the massive table, several other empty chairs around, he frowned at the different holo-screens floating around him as they relayed the status of his various projects. It was still bothering him. He frowned at his favorite mug, now empty and forlorn, leaving a ring on the table's surface.

Pepper would always get that exasperated look and shake her head when his mind clamped down on the smallest of problems. She was always a big picture person while he liked to micromanage. The tiniest of mysteries always tripped him up. He loved a good puzzle. He also loved to procrastinate. Either way, it was something to do.

With a wave of his hand, Tony brought up a new screen.

“JARVIS, get me camera footage from the main break room.”

“Any particular time, Sir? Or do you just want to admire the decorating?” said a mechanical, long-suffering voice.

Tony rubbed the stubble on his chin as he thought how to narrow his search. “From this week only. Let's start our first day, Monday morning. Start time... let's do this, find when I first entered the break room.”

“Excellent idea, Sir. One can never have too much video of one's self.”

Tony made a sarcastic face to the open air. “Just shut up and do it.”

In mere seconds, black and white footage of Tony himself in the break room with a cup of coffee popped up on the screen. His face was pleasantly surprised with his drink as he sipped it. Tony revisited that memory and missed his coffee from the last week anew.

“Okay, now rewind it from there.”

The computer silently obeyed and Tony watched as several agents before him visited the coffee station. He sat forward when one in particular looked to be filling the coffee maker.

“Pause it there.”

Though he only had a back view of the agent, Tony could tell he was looking at a woman from the shape of the body and the long hair pulled back into a bun. He almost assumed it was Agent Hill. Same type of hair, but not quite the same height. But the bun was rather messy with random strands falling out. Agent Hill was far too orderly to come in like that.

“JARVIS, pull up Tuesday now. Let's see if we can get a better shot of our mystery barista.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

After ten minutes of surfing footage of the break room, Tony had several shots of his coffee girl, but had yet to identify her. He was having a hard enough time just finding a good still of her face. The woman always had her head down, away from the cameras, as if purposefully hiding from them.

But Tony certainly wasn't about to give up that easily. “JARVIS, search all security footage for this person, see if you can't find me a clearer shot. Once you do, identify her and bring up her agent records.”

“Should I also alert Ms. Potts of your new stalker status?”

Sometimes Tony wished JARVIS had some sort of physical form so he could throw things at it. “This has nothing to do with her. Just do what I say.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

Tony leaned back in his chair with a sigh. The things he put up with for a good cup of coffee.

* * *

 

 

Director Fury walked by the long windows of Tony's de facto work space to see him fully occupied with a multitude of hovering screens. Though it appeared Stark was working hard, Fury had a feeling it wasn't all related with what he had been contracted to do. Something was up. Fury turned to his radio.

“Agent Romanoff?”

“Romanoff here,” the redhead's voice replied, sounding more awake this time.

“I've got a baby-sitting job for you.”

“Stark?” she responded simply.

“Just keep an eye on him. I feel like he's nosing around where he doesn't necessarily need to be.”

“He's probably just bored.”

“Or he's up to something. Just keep tabs on him and alert me if he oversteps his boundaries.”

“Copy that. Romanoff out.”

Even as Fury ended the call and went on his way, Tony was staring at an agent file. An identification picture was tacked on, showing a woman with the same stray hair and a lack of expression on her face.

“Agent Marcia Gray, huh?” Tony said to himself. “Not much on you here.” He glanced around the file. “Specialty: extraction. What? Is she a dentist or something? Key notes: DNR. Whatever that means in this place.” Tony's gaze went back to the picture, making his own assumptions based on her appearance. “You probably work some boring desk job in a tiny cubicle without a window. Girl makes one hell of a cup of coffee though. We'll see what was so important you couldn't be bothered to make any today.”

“Sir,” JARVIS' voice cut in. “I've checked all the footage from today. Agent Gray is not in the building, nor did she report for work this morning.”

Tony tipped his head. “Interesting. Well, it's a good thing this file just happens to have a home address.”

* * *

 

 

Tony parked where the GPS directed him and stepped out of his rented Porsche. The neighborhood was quaint and unassuming. Not too posh, but not too ghetto. The perfect place for a secret agent to reside and pretend they lived the average life. It was January and New York was still in the middle of winter. Tony zipped up his coat against the sharp, chilly wind as he located the stairs and headed up to the second floor. Apartment 214 was right in front of him and he did not hesitate to raise his hand and knock.

“What are you doing, Stark?” a female voice asked behind him.

He turned to find an unexpected, but familiar redhead standing behind him, hands on hips. Her cheeks were rosy from the cold.

“Oh, Agent Romanoff. I assume Fury sent you to be my handler? I'm just making a quick house call, it's noting to be concerned about.”

Natasha stepped closer, unswayed. “A call to whose house?”

At that time, the apartment door opened and bleary-eyed woman peered out. Her brown hair was more of a mess than in the surveillance footage and she was dressed in a robe that would have been a brilliant pink years ago.

“Hi there!” Tony greeted brightly. “Agent Gray, I presume.”

The woman squinted at him. “Mr. Stark?” Then her gaze slid over to the head of brilliant red hair. “Natasha- Agent Romanoff.”

She gave a quick nod in greeting. “Marcy.”

“It's been a while,” Agent Gray said, voice scratchy. “You look really good.”

“You look like hell,” the redhead shot back.

Agent Gray coughed and then sniffled. “How's Barton?”

She smiled. “He's doing very well. He'll be in town tomorrow, in fact. I'll tell him you asked about him.”

Agent Gray nodded and then both women looked expectantly at Tony.

“Hey, I just came about the coffee,” he said. “The stuff at HQ is hardly passable.”

Natasha gave a grunt of agreement.

Agent Gray blinked at Tony as if he were a radiant light that hurt her eyes. “My coffee?”

“Big fan,” Tony insisted, one hand pressed to his glowing chest. “The day just doesn't start right without it. You'll be in tomorrow to make some, won't you?”

“I'll... try. Depends on how I'm feeling. I caught this nasty flu bug and it's hit me pretty hard.”

“Understandable. Maybe if we came in and helped-”

Natasha cut him off by grabbing his arm. “We're going now. Sorry to bother you. Feel better, Marcy.” With that, she dragged Tony by the arm back down the stairs.

“If you can't make it in, call me,” Tony called as he was pulled down the stairs. “Maybe we can set up a delivery or something.”

He was yanked out of sight and Agent Gray shook her head as if she could not believe what just happened, and then shut the door.

Tony turned back to Natasha. “Why am I the only one who has a handler? Why doesn't Bruce have one? You'd think he's the one SHIELD would want to keep an eye on the most.”

Natasha gave a secretive smirk. “I assure you there are protocols in place. And I hope you're done harassing our staff.”

Tony glanced back at the apartment building. “For today, anyway. I make no promises for tomorrow.”

 

 

**Day 2**

 

Dr. Bruce Banner filled his cup at the water cooler, fully aware of the wide berth given him by all SHIELD employees. It didn't bother him so much. He understood and he enjoyed the quiet.

“Have you tried this stuff?” Tony demanded, shoving a mug in his face.

Well, almost quiet.

“I don't drink coffee,” Bruce replied calmly. “It makes me jittery. I don't think anyone here would like me when I'm jittery.”

Tony put a companionable arm around him. “Consider yourself blessed, my friend. It tastes like it was filtered through a week old maxi pad.”

Bruce made a disgusted face while Tony promptly dumped his coffee onto the floor.

“What are you two genius idiots doing to my new carpet?!”

Said idiots turned to find Director Fury storming toward them. Bruce instantly backed up, hands raised in surrender as one finger pointed at Tony.

“Take it out of what you owe me,” the billionaire responded without missing a beat. “You're already late on your first payment.”

“It's in the mail,” Fury responded with a tight jaw.

“Uh huh.”

“Get back to work,” was all Fury said in retort and turned on his heel with the flip of his coat tails.

“Oh, I've got work, alright,” Tony said seriously, and turned to sneak off to places unknown.

Bruce wasn't even going to ask.

* * *

 

 

SHIELD Agent Clint Barton stepped into the elevator as Tony pressed the button for the main floor. The two nodded in greeting.

“Going somewhere?” the archer asked.

“Just a quick errand. You come to stop me, Hunger Games?” Tony asked in challenge. “I thought Romanoff was my assigned baby-sitter.”

“I'm the handler this time if you're headed to see Agent Gray.”

Tony quirked an eyebrow at the unexpected response. “The more the merrier, I suppose.” He paused, then added, “Have you tried the coffee?”

“Tastes like it came out of the back end of a gangrenous water buffalo.”

Tony snorted with a grin. “Yeah, it does.”

* * *

 

 

The door to apartment 214 opened shortly after the first knock. Agent Gray, looking very much in the same state as she did the day before, peered out. Before she could even offer a greeting, Clint promptly shoved Tony out of the way, then held out his arms to her.

“Marcy.”

Her pallid face lit up slightly. “Clint! Come inside, it's cold out there.” Then she quickly backed up when he tried to hug her, long sleeve covering her mouth. “You don't want to touch me, I'm disgusting right now.”

“Too bad, you're getting a hug anyway.”

Agent Gray held both arms in front of her like a shield, but Clint still wrapped his arms around her. The woman closed her eyes for a moment and Tony slipped inside.

“How long's it been?” Clint asked. “Two years?”

“Four,” Agent Gray corrected.

“FOUR?!” Clint blinked at her, going through his mental calendar. Then he realized he didn't even know what day it was today, so maybe she was right. Being a SHIELD agent made the time fly by so fast.

Tony's muttering could be heard from inside the apartment and Agent Gray turned around. “Can I help you with something, Mr. Stark?”

He yanked open her blinds with a loud whir. “Just getting some light in here. Sunshine is very good for you. Also, this,” he added as Agent Gray walked toward him. There was suddenly a device in his hand and he punched it into her arm.

“Ow!” she barked, jumping back and rubbing away the pain.

Clint was suddenly between them, pushing Stark back. “Hey! What was that?”

Tony raised his hands before Clint decided to go all assassin on his ass. “Nothing, just an immune system booster, compliments of a small pharmaceutical company I own.”

“FDA approved?” Agent Gray asked suspiciously.

“No, but I've used it several times myself. The last two even had the desired affects with no hallucinations.”

By then, Agent Gray decided she was still too sick and tired to worry about it and let out a heavy sigh.

“Actually, Agent Gray,” Tony then said, “since you did ask, a cup of coffee would be fantastic. Thank you.”

“I don't have any,” she replied in a flat voice. “How's tea?”

Tony sighed while Clint tossed his coat on a chair like he owned the place. “Fine. That's fine.”

Agent Gray retreated into the kitchen to get some distance, but Tony followed her in. “So tell me, how is it that I don't remember seeing you around the 'ol HQ since I've been here?”

“I'm paid to blend in,” she replied as she heated the water. “I do my job better when I'm not noticed.”

“And that job is?”

“Hey, nice collection,” Clint interrupted as he came into the kitchen. He was currently admiring an assortment of newspaper clippings, articles and photos, hanging on the fridge and around the walls.

Tony stepped over to have a look. All the articles were related to the public exploits of the Avengers team. “This isn't creepy at all. Stalk much?”

“I enjoy reading about you guys,” she insisted. “I'm proud of you. A lot of us in SHIELD are.”

“Mmhm,” Tony said as he took a mental count of who were in which pictures. “Seems you have a predilection to a certain star-spangled science project.”

“Most women do,” Clint smirked, raising a curious brow toward her. “Though I'm surprised you're one of them.”

Agent Gray quickly turned away with an embarrassed shrug. “It's not like that. He's pretty much your poster boy. Most of the papers go with shots of Captain Rogers, that's all. There's several photos of Mr. Stark. And one or two of you in there, too, Clint.”

Tony and Clint exchanged smirks, but let it go.

When the tea was ready, the three moved back to the living room.

“So you and Barton used to be partners,” Tony said as he made himself at home on the couch. He sipped the tea. Not bad, but he sure missed that coffee.

“It was years ago, before Natasha became part of SHIELD,” Clint responded.

“So you're the ex, then,” Tony said to Agent Gray with a playful quirk of his mouth. “Ex only in the streets, or also ex in the sheets?”

Clint gave Tony a sharp look, but Agent Gray made a loud snort through her clogged sinuses.

“Only the streets. And happy to be so. Clint and Agent Romanoff work seamlessly together and I was able to be transferred some place where I could be more useful.”

Tony wasn't sure, but Clint looked like he didn't exactly agree with that statement. But before he could entertain that mystery, something furry jumped upon the couch behind him.

“Why, hello. Who is this?” Tony asked of the large gray tabby perched by his shoulder.

“That's Dippy. Don't mind him. He just likes to look out the window.”  
“Dippy? That short for anything?”

“Dipshit,” Agent Gray replied simply.

Clint choked on his tea.

“He belonged to my dad before he died,” she went on to explain. “And he's quite possibly the dumbest cat alive.”

As if on cue, the cat started yowling at nothing in particular.

“I'm over here, buddy,” Agent Gray called. “You're fine.”

The cat turned with a startled look, as if not realizing there were people in the room, and promptly fell off the back of the couch.

“Yup. That's Dippy.”

Clint smiled, silent nostalgia on his face.

Tony set down his tea. “Well this visit, though disappointing, was at least a little entertaining.”

Agent Gray let out a grating laugh, then a few coughs. “I'm sorry you have to wait. I promise I'll personally make you a cup when I'm no longer a living cesspool of germs. Is that satisfactory?”

Tony let out a exaggerated sigh. “I suppose.”

* * *

 

 

**Day 3**

 

Agents always greeted Steve each morning when he walked into SHIELD central. Most would nod; a few of the more confident ones would offer a “Morning, Cap” as he passed. The female agents would give him winks or sly grins. Sometimes they giggled at his passing and gave him flirtatious waves as if to beckon him to them.

Even though it sometimes made Steve feel a bit shy, he didn't mind the flirting. It was a nice change from his previous life of being absolutely invisible to women. Today, however, he had a hard time returning any smiles sent his way. He wasn't sure why, but his uneasy feeling had been going on for a few days now.

As he stepped into the elevator alone, he allowed himself to frown as he tried to assess his inner turmoil. He just didn't feel like himself, like something important was missing. But what? People had off days. This was normal, right? But why was it going on for so long? He felt like he was missing something, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

The elevator door was almost closed before a hand shot in.

“Hold the door,” Tony called before stepping inside. He nodded at the taller blond man. “How you doin', Cap?”

Steve just shrugged as they ascended. “I don't know. I've felt... a little off lately. Not sure why.”

“Maybe you're getting sick,” Tony suggested. “It seems there's a bug going around.”

“I don't get sick,” Steve insisted.

“Of course you don't,” Tony muttered. Then in a louder voice, “You ever tried the coffee here?”

“I don't drink it much. The caffeine has no affect on me. I heard Natasha complain about it for at least five minutes the other day, though.”

The elevator binged their floor and both stepped out.

“She's not wrong. We've all had to choke down the most vile-” Tony paused when he saw Agent Gray, looking very well and standing in the doorway of the break room, steaming cup in her hand.

“As promised, Mr. Stark,” she said as she handed over the coffee. “I trust this means no more unannounced visits to my apartment.”

Tony took a sip and, for a moment, he was in love. “I promise nothing. I am a man of routine after all.”

Steve, when he realized Tony was intent on flirting with the coffee girl, continued on his way.

“Good morning, Captain Rogers,” Agent Gray said softly as he passed, as she did every morning.

He didn't seem to hear her, as was his norm every morning. The only difference between this day and all the others was that Tony Stark was present to witness that she was completely invisible to the captain. It was embarrassing.

Tony watched Steve walk obliviously away as he sipped his small bit of heaven. What a dumbass. Did he not know he just walked past perfection? If Tony were Steve, he would wife this woman for the coffee perks alone. Coffee first thing in the morning, in bed. What could be finer than that? Feeling the need to say something encouraging, Tony turned to where she was standing moments before.

“Hey, Agent Gray--”

She was no longer there. She wasn't anywhere to be seen.

“What the—where did she go?”

Unknown to either, further up the hall, Steve suddenly had the feeling that whatever had been missing from his life the past three days was suddenly put back in place. Something gentle soothed his nervous edges and the next person to greet him was answered with a genuine smile. Today felt like it was going to be a pretty good day after all.

 

 


	2. The Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little Bruce/Betty for your Valentines Day. I love them so much!

.

 

**Faded**

**Chapter Two: The Letter**

 

Bruce Banner turned the worn envelope over and over in his hands. His eyes traced Betty's name scrawled in his penmanship as his fingers creased the corners.

Betty Ross, the only woman he had ever loved. The one who never looked at him with fear, who never treated him like a monster, though she knew the truth. The one who would always have his heart even though he could never have her. Not with her father, General Ross, forcing them to remain apart with bullets and tanks. But that didn't mean he thought of her less, loved her any less, missed her any less.

All that time he had been in hiding, he used his work to keep himself busy, to ignore the heartache. But after New York, after gods, magical weaponry and alien invasions. After being so close to total Earthly annihilation, it put her in the forefront of his thoughts and he ached to see her. He burned to share with her all he had done and seen. Even more so to express everything he still felt for her.

After the battle had died, in the first quiet moment he found for himself, Bruce sat down and he wrote. In fumbling words, he poured out his heart, doing his best to express the nature of his being. He wrote until he felt he had emptied out his entire soul and was a bit disappointed in himself to find he had only filled out two pages. Two pages of the simplest expression of love. Two pages of everything that was him, laid bare and bleeding, and missing the one he cared for most.

Once completed, the letter was placed in an envelope with her name and that's where the process ended. Bruce could not mail it, he had no address. He no longer knew Betty's whereabouts. She was in protective custody at her father's orders. Even more so now since New York, Bruce surmised. No doubt Betty's mail was even checked, possibly by her father himself, before she received it. Even if he had an address, nothing he sent would ever reach her.

It was a hopeless situation. All he could do was hold his heart in his hands and ache for something that could never be.

“Dr. Banner?”

A soft voice threw him out of his melancholy and Bruce jerked to find he was suddenly no longer alone in his lab. A SHIELD Agent, female, stood over him, her unruly hair falling out of a messy bun. How did he not notice her enter? He really must have been deep in his own world this time.

“Are you alright?” she asked.

Bruce suddenly felt ridiculous and quickly hid the envelope under a stack of files. “Sorry, I'm fine. I was just startled. I didn't notice you come in.”

“I'm paid not to be noticed,” she replied. The only thing he noticed about her was her hair didn't quite want to stay up and fell in sloppy tendrils. Other than that, she was unremarkable for an agent. If she had turned and walked out that door right then, Bruce wouldn't have even remembered her face.

“And your name is?” he asked suspiciously.

“I beg your pardon. I'm Agent Gray.”

He was still confused as to why she was there. “Should... I know you?”

“Oh, no. It's just that I walk by here every day and I always see you holding that envelope, staring at it.”

Bruce frowned; he got it now. “So they sent you to watch me to make sure I'm not wasting SHIELD's time.” To be fair, they _were_ paying him to research the gamma radiation output of the Tesseract and any lingering effects it may have had on agents who had spent prolonged exposure in its glow. But the suggestion that Fury seemed to want to keep an eye on him by way of his pet agents irritated him. Bruce didn't agree to stay at SHIELD to play around. He took his research seriously.

Agent Gray gently shook her head. “Dr. Banner, I'm not here to micromanage. I don't care what you do while on SHIELD's time. I was wondering if you needed help sending that letter.”

He gave her an apologetic smile and then looked down at his hands. “Thanks for the concern, but I'm afraid it's undeliverable.”

“Elizabeth Ross may be difficult to reach, but not impossible.”

Bruce felt a bit of his temper flare at the mention of his love's name at the lips of this stranger. He wanted to berate her for nosing into his personal business. But then again, he had to remind himself that this was SHIELD. Everyone knew his personal business. It was in a file that was recently leaked to the world, along with most, if not all, of SHIELD's data.

“It's not important,” he found himself saying.

“It is important,” Agent Gray insisted in a soft voice. “You wouldn't look at it every day if it wasn't.”

“There's no way to get it to her. You can't. No one can.”

She sat herself down in the chair next to his, looking Bruce in the eye. He was surprised to find he actually felt more comfortable at her proximity than intimidated. All the other worker-bee agents that cluttered SHIELD's hive gave him a wide berth in the halls and never looked him in the face. Bruce could feel their nervousness in his proximity and that, in turn, made him nervous. This woman sat next to him with ease and looked at him like he was a normal person. Bruce felt the tension in his shoulders lessen.

“I am a trained SHIELD agent, I have my secret ways,” she said with a confidential smile. “Give me the letter and give me some time to get it to her. I can do it.”

By then, Bruce had pulled the envelope back out, fingering it. He was shaking his head. He had held onto it for too long. He no longer dared to hope his words would ever leave him.

“Let me try. If I can't do it, I'll give it right back to you,” Agent Gray pressed. “And you will have lost nothing.”

Bruce looked up at her with bushy brows. His days of being young and hopeful for the future were long gone. The only hope he still had was hoping to make it through each day without incident, without causing anyone to fear him more than he already did. Wishing for anything beyond that was more than he dared.

Agent Gray just watched him patiently, letting him take his time. She seemed in no hurry to be away from his company. Only Tony usually treated him that way. This was... nice.

Why not one last attempt at hoping for something more? She was right, what did he have to lose from it if the letter merely returned to him, still unable to be delivered?

“Okay, one week,” he said, extending the envelope to her. When she reached for it, he yanked it back. “Promise me you won't read it.”

She looked him in the eyes and held out her hand. “I understand how precious secrets are, Dr. Banner. This one will remain yours, I swear it.”

He believed her. His heart thudded with both trepidation and excitement as he handed her the letter.

* * *

 

 

Director Fury stood at this control station, overlooking SHIELD operations with a keen eye, hands clasped smartly behind his back.

Next to him stood Tony Stark, dressed in torn jeans, as if he couldn't afford new ones. He was loudly tasting his coffee with unappetizing smacking sounds. There was absolutely no reason for him to be in there other than to be a nuisance. Fury was doing his best to ignore said nuisance, but he knew Stark wasn't going to stop until he engaged. Fine.

“What is it now?” Fury finally asked with an irritated sigh.

“This coffee, it has a weird taste.”

“It is exactly the same coffee Agent Gray uses. I made sure we stocked up plenty in the kitchen in hopes I would never have another dumbass conversation like this with you.”

“ _This_ wasn't made by Agent Gray,” Tony insisted, nearly sticking his finger in the cup. “It lacks the love and care she puts into it.”

Fury's voice rose a bit with irritation. “How the hell can you even tell? I still can't believe you met her.”

“Why?” Tony asked as he took another cautionary sip. “Did she in fact die here two years ago in this very building? That's strange that a ghost has an apartment.”

“You went to her apartment?”

“Twice.”

“Why would you— How did you even know her—?” Fury sucked in a breath to calm himself. “A large part of Agent Gray's job is to remain unnoticed, even by my own staff. That is what I pay her for. Right now she is doing a terrible job of it and you aren't helping by constantly talking about her damn coffee.”

“Well, she's sure earning her paycheck today. I can't find her and she clearly did not make this coffee. Do you have her on speed dial or something? Maybe I can get her number so this doesn't happen again.”

Fury turned, laying his full attention and fading temper on Tony. “She's not your personal coffee girl, she's a SHIELD agent. And right now she's out in the field doing her damn job!”

“I thought she was a paper pusher. What's she doing out there? Nevermind. Did she say when she was coming back? Hell, if she's close by, I'll just fly to her and she can make me--”

“Get the hell out of my control room, Stark!” Fury turned to find a much larger, well-built man standing in his way. “And what do you need, Rogers?”

Steve had a small frown on his face, looking unsure. “I'm having another off day. It feels weird.”

Tony took another sip. “Funny how that always happens on days when the coffee's bad, huh, Cap?”

Steve just tipped his head. “I have no idea what that means.”

Tony looked skyward while Fury continued to seethe. “Of course you don't.”

* * *

 

 

Betty Ross walked to her car after school had let out. Though no one here called her Betty, or even knew that was her real identity. Sheila Fines was now the name on her ID; all part of the witness relocation program; her father had insisted. Betty hated it. And yet, she knew she had to. With all the publicity brought on by the Avengers, with so much of SHIELD's secret files now out on the internet for public display, she had little choice.

Admittedly, her life wasn't so bad. Teaching high school science was a huge step down from her cell research, but it kept her busy and she adored the kids. Most importantly, it was a second chance at a normal life and Betty yearned for normal. Though, at the same time, she yearned even more for Bruce. She just wanted to know, wherever he was, if he was okay. If she just knew that, she wouldn't hope for anything else.

“Bye, Ms. Fines,” one of her students called.

Betty paused as she opened her car door to wave at them. Then, turning to get in, she promptly dropped her purse, spilling a few of the contents. Mumbling to herself, she bent to retrieve her things. When she stood, she paused at the sight of a white envelope in the driver's seat. She was completely positive it wasn't there when she had first unlocked the car.

A chill went up her spine as if she were in the presence of something unnatural. Still, she climbed in her car, closing the door behind her as she inspected the envelope. Her name was written on the front and Betty's heart jumped into her throat, tears stinging her eyes as she recognized the handwriting.

* * *

 

 

It had been nearly two weeks and Bruce was getting antsier by the day. One week, that was the agreement. He regretted his decision more each time he thought about it. Every morning he looked for the mysterious Agent Gray, but never found her. Every morning his fingers missed holding that letter almost as much as they missed touching the warmth of the woman he loved.

What if his letter became lost? What if someone found it and read it? What if Agent Gray read it? Those words were not for her eyes or anyone else's. Those other people did not belong in his world. They had no right to know his pain. How could he have just let the letter go like that? What was he thinking?

Unable to concentrate on his work, Bruce took to stalking the halls, lost in his own thoughts. It took very little time for the surrounding agents on the floor to notice his clear agitation. They called in for a supervisor at once.

“Dr. Banner,” Fury said carefully as he approached.

Bruce looked up, torn from his tortured thoughts.

Fury held up a calming hand, though the other was reaching for his weapon just in case. “You seem a little upset. I just want to know if everything is all right.”

Bruce instantly realized what he was doing and visibly calmed down with a heavy sigh. “Sorry, I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I just had... some personal issues on my mind. I didn't mean to scare anyone.” He paused, then asked, “Do you know of an Agent Gray?”

Fury suddenly set his jaw a bit tighter, irked at the fact that another member of the Avengers was asking for someone who was supposed to be invisible.

“Dr. Banner, I'm right here,” came a soft, feminine voice.

Fury's expression told he was going to have a word with her and Agent Gray looked properly chastised for it.

“Agent Gray,” Bruce pushed in, ignoring Fury. “I'm sorry, I made a mistake. I would really like that letter back right now. I can't-”

He paused when Agent Gray produced a blue unfamiliar envelope. “That's not mine.”

“No,” she responded calmly. “This is her reply.”

Bruce stared at her wide-eyed. The prospect of ever receiving something from Betty in return had never crossed his mind. His heart fluttered, his chest grew tight, and he suddenly had his arms around the bewildered agent.

The woman allowed him a moment just to hold her before rasping into his ear with a breath-taken voice, “Dr. Banner, you give awesome hugs.”

It was then Bruce found himself and quickly pulled away. “Sorry about that. And thank you.”

Agent Gray nodded as she passed over the envelope to his trembling fingers. “It was my pleasure. I'm sorry it took longer than we agreed.”

Bruce was shaking his head. He had already forgiven her a dozen times over.

“Agent Gray,” Fury's sharp voice cut in. “A word with you, please.”

Bruce and the female agent shared a conspiring look before Agent Gray scooted away, Fury stalking behind her toward the elevator and his office on a higher floor.

* * *

 

 

Bruce quickly sequestered himself in his lab with his letter, hands fumbling to open it. When he first set eyes on it, he was elated beyond words. Now he was terrified. What if he didn't like what he read? He had never even considered a response from Betty when he wrote the letter. Now, for the first time, he knew this came with the possibility of rejection. But, he knew he had to read it no matter what it said. Rejection was still better than nothing at all. If she no longer wanted him, no longer loved him for what he had become, he needed to know. He needed the closure so he could move on.

Contained in the blue envelope was a single piece of lined paper. Scrawled in a hasty, but dainty style he read:

 

Dear Bruce,

 

I cannot even being to fathom what magic as brought you to me, but I leave

this message out in the ether of angels in hopes the same powers help it find you.

Know that where I am, I am safe and happy. But please do not mistake my happiness

for satisfaction with a life not involving you.

I regret the brevity, but I don't know how closely they keep tabs on me. I just

want you to know that through all this, I have and still yearn for you. I dream of your

eyes, your voice, your embrace. I love you, Bruce. All of you. My heart is yours as

long as yours is mine and I will wait for you. All you have to do is call and I will come.

Work your magic once more when the time is right and I will be there.

 

With all my love,

Betty

 

Bruce read the letter again. Then once more. He consumed each word, swirled it around in his gut, in his heart, and all the secret nerve endings in between that danced and trembled. His chest felt too full to contain what he felt and emotion forced its way out.

The joy of her words, the pain of her distance; it all fell together in a heavy weight and the dam broke. Hands supporting his face, fingers thrust in his hair, Bruce surrendered to it all. He wept. He wept with pain and relief. He cried until he felt better and lighter and then he was finished crying.

Later that day, he wandered down to the break room level for no reason in particular. The large balcony out the back was set up with tables and benches. Often used by staff during lunch in the summer, it was empty in the January chill. Bruce was called to it, wandering out without a coat to blink at the sun. When was the last time he had stood outside in the sun? He couldn't remember. It felt so bright, so cleansing today.

He sat himself on a bench facing the cityscape, taking a unique joy in the quiet solace of winter and how the cold burned his lungs. In a matter of minutes, his world, his future had expanded. The universe seemed a wider, warmer place and he wanted to sit in this moment of hope for as long as it washed over him.

Bruce didn't know how long he was out there, didn't notice the chill at all. But the sun was suddenly setting when he felt a jacket draped over his shoulders. He looked up to see Agent Gray standing beside him dressed in a winter coat. She put a warm styrofoam cup in his hands.

“It's just hot cocoa,” she said to his questioning look. “Mind if I sit?”

He nodded his head to the empty place beside her. They sat together, watching the winter sunset. Bruce sipped the hot drink and only when the warmth was introduced did he notice how cold he was. He slipped his arms in the offered jacket and pressed both hands to the side of the cup. The two sat companionably together for several minutes before the agent spoke.

“Do you mind if I ask if it was good news or bad?”

Bruce felt a smile tug at his mouth as he looked down at his hands. “It was good. Really good.” He looked Agent Gray sincerely in the face. “Thank you. I don't know how you did it, but it means a lot to me.”

She nodded in response. They sat together a few minutes more, quietly content, until a third person wandered outside.

“What's going on out here? This is curious.”

“Hey, Tony,” Bruce greeted.

Tony pointed down at their drinks. “Is that...?”

“Just chocolate,” Agent Gray responded. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“Speaking of disappoint, I know who you are now. You're Bruce's handler, am I right?”

Bruce turned his head to the agent, looking a bit betrayed. She merely took a calm sip of her drink and continued to gaze out at the city.

“I told you, I not here to micromanage you, Dr. Banner. I just want to make sure you're not miserable being stuck here in this fugly building.”

That response seemed to amuse him. “You can call me Bruce.”

“Marcy.”

“Tony.”

“We know,” Bruce said.

Agent Gray—Marcy—smiled down at her cup.

“Well, you're welcome to come by any time,” Bruce said. “And if I happen to have anything else I need... delivered?”

“I'll be happy to help,” she replied.

Since he was facing the other two on the bench, Tony was the only one who saw Steve Rogers through the glass doors fiddling around inside the break room. It seemed the captain had smelled the hot chocolate and was pouring himself a cup. He caught the gaze of Tony as he was turning to leave.

Tony, in return, motioned an invitation to come out and join him and the two other people sitting on the bench outside. From the back of his head, Steve recognized Bruce's unkempt hair. He did not know the woman, nor was he interested in talking to her. Natasha made him talk to all the female staff as she continued in her attempts to get him to start dating. He wasn't in the mood.

Steve declined with a polite wave and left out the way he came. Tony shrugged and glanced down at Agent Gray as she and Bruce spoke like old friends. Poor kid. She would be just another face in the crowd to Steve Rogers. Completely invisible.

 

 


	3. Birthday

 

**Faded**

**Chapter Three: Birthday**

 

“What about Jillian in communications? She's totally into you. I see her flirting every time you walk by.”

“Jillian?” Steve responded dubiously. “The girl with the purple hair?”

“What?” Natasha defended as the elevator door closed behind them. “It means she likes to try new things. You could learn something from a girl like that, Rogers.”

“Are you ever going to stop trying to set me up with my coworkers?” Steve complained.

“Relax, Rogers, I'm not shopping for your wife. I just think it would do you good to get out, you know? Do something ordinary. Take a pretty girl to dinner, go see a movie. Have some _fun_ for once.”

The elevator dinged as it hit the ground floor.

“Did you ever consider that maybe I'm not interested in dating a SHIELD agent?” Steve said.

Natasha raised a brow at him. “So, have you asked a 'normal' girl out then?”

Steve's face told her he hadn't and the elevator doors opened.

Clint was standing in the lobby, waiting. He looked at Natasha and then nodded at Steve. “You coming, too?”

“Coming where?”

Natasha grabbed his jacket sleeve and guided Steve out. “You should come. It will be fun. It's an opportunity for a little normalcy. We all could use some of that.”

Steve slowed the pace a little, suspicious. “Which is...?”

“We're going to a birthday party. Agent Coulson's nephew is turning six.”

The name of the departed agent caused Steve to halt completely in his tracks. “Agent Coulson? I wasn't aware of what family he had.”

“He has a sister,” the red head responded. “She used to be an agent, too. It sort of runs in Coulson's family. She retired from SHIELD after she got married. Now she has a son and another on the way.”

“So are we going or not?” Clint pressed, walking backwards toward the door. “I don't want to miss the cake before those little nose rangers get their dirty hands on it.”

Steve looked unconvinced. “It's all about the kids, is it?”

“Actually, we're mostly going for the mother,” Natasha said. “But this kid's a big Captain America fan. You would totally make his day if you went.”

Steve thought about it for a moment. “No, I think I'll pass. I don't think making birthday appearances is my thing.”

Clint was still trying to at least get Natasha to the door, but the redhead wasn't finished. She turned to Steve, now serious and voice low.

“Look, I wouldn't have asked unless this was a special occasion. This kid, his health hasn't been that great this year. They're not sure if he'll make it to another birthday. It would mean the world to him if you showed up, even for just a few minutes.”

Steve gave a loud huff. “Fine. I'll go.”

* * *

 

 

They took a not so conspicuous SUV and, with Clint driving, parked in an apartment complex not too far from SHIELD HQ. Steve silently followed the two assassins up to the second floor as they stopped outside door number 214.

“Sounds kinda quiet in there for a birthday party,” the captain said.

“This isn't the party. We're just picking up another passenger,” Natasha replied.

“Then why did I get out?” Steve mumbled to himself as Clint raised a hand to knock.

Before he could, however, the door swung open on its own and bright green material was flicked in their faces, showering them all with little green snowflake-like puffs. From behind the gentle fall, a wide-eyed woman stood in the doorway.

“Yikes, sorry guys. Didn't see you there. I was just trying to get all the extra fluff off.”

By now, all three were covered in small bits of neon green. Natasha spit out a particularly naughty bit that had gotten into her mouth.

“Come inside, I've got lint rollers. We'll get you guys cleaned up,” the woman said.

As they stepped in, Natasha nodded to the brunette woman. “Steve, this is Agent Gray. Marcy, this is Captain Rogers.”

He nodded at her. “Ma'am.”

The woman known as Marcy instantly grinned at the word, though she tried to hide it. She shoved a lint roller into his hands before handing another to Natasha. The redhead instantly worked to rid herself of all the green puffs clinging to her nice black slacks.

Steve's roller was brand new and his large, blunt fingers were having difficulty peeling off the top layer.

“Here, I got that,” Marcy said as she took it back and used her fingernails to scratch off the tape.

Clint moved further into the apartment and gave a low whistle at the three-foot tall plush green T-rex sitting on the couch. “You make this yourself?”

“Have you not seen all the green in my apartment?” Marcy laughed in response. She began removing the lint off Steve's jacket herself as she talked. First, the arms, then the back of his shoulders. “This material is so messy to work with. When you cut out pieces, it just sheds everywhere and gets into everything. I'm so glad it's done.”

Natasha took her turn to appraise the plush dinosaur as it bared its felt teeth at her. “It turned out real nice. That kid's gonna love it.”

“I hope so. It took me so long. And it came out way bigger than I thought it would. I used like four bags of stuffing on that monster.”

Natasha turned back around to Marcy and grinned. “I'm quite sure Rogers' ass is nice and clean now.”

Marcy paused, suddenly realizing she had been giving Steve's backside a good wiping down. Quickly, she handed the roller to him in embarrassment and backed away.

“Clint, watch out for the cat,” she then called. “Don't let him eat your shoelaces. He'll do it.”

Clint looked down at the gray tabby, who had obviously rolled in all the green poof balls he could find. The feline was gnawing on his laces like they were the best thing in the world.

He grinned. “I love this dumb cat.”

* * *

 

 

“So does she know what the baby's going to be?” Natasha asked as they sat in the SUV while Clint drove.

“Hollie's having a little girl,” Marcy responded from the back seat, T-rex in her lap. “She's very excited.”

Natasha glanced from the front. “Any names picked out?”

Marcy snorted. “Kardashian.”

Natasha made a face of disgust. “Oh, that's awful! Why would she do that?”

“I know. Hopefully, when her husband gets back from deployment he'll talk her out of it.”

As the girls spoke, Steve glanced at Marcy curiously as he sat next to her. For some reason, he enjoyed hearing her voice, but couldn't put a finger on why. He couldn't recall ever seeing her at SHIELD HQ, but she said she was a agent. Why had he never seen her around? “So how is it you knew Coulson, Agent Gray? I mean, I'm sure everyone in SHIELD knows of Coulson, but-”

Marcy nodded in understanding. “His and my families both come from SHIELD since the beginning. He, his sister and I were practically raised at SHIELD daycare. Our parents were agents, their parents were agents. We all knew we would also be agents before we were old enough to carry a gun.”

“Are you a field agent?”

“Used to be. I'm mostly just a glorified secretary now.”

“And she makes the coffee,” Natasha teased. “Tony will tell you all about it.”

Marcy shook her head and her.

Steve nodded and then said, “I'm sorry if this sounds weird, but have we met before? Your voice sounds so familiar to me.”

Marcy turned her dark eyes on him. “No, we haven't officially been introduced. But we've worked in the same building for the past few months. I usually say good morning to you when I see you.”

Steve pressed his brows together in thought.

“You usually don't notice,” Marcy continued, then added quickly. “Which is fine. I'm kind of quiet at work.”

He gave her one of those melting smiles that would make any girl's knees go weak. “Well, I'll be sure to listen real carefully next time.”

Marcy quickly looked out the window, her face red. Natasha glanced back and smiled to herself. A new plan to get Steve to have some sort of social life was hatching.

* * *

 

 

When they arrived at the house of Agent Coulson's sister, the four were met with exuberance from Hollie, a tall blonde woman who shared Coulson's eyes and nose. She led them to the back yard where a cluster of children were running around and causing a general ruckus in the snow. Luckily it was warm and sunny out, despite the winter. The swarm of children didn't have to spend the entire party inside tearing up the house. The boy in the lead of the loud and rowdy pack wore a plastic crown, presumably the birthday boy.

“Marcus,” Hollie called. “Come say hi to Uncle Phil's friends.”

The child ran up, pausing in front of Steve to stare at the tall man.

“Look, hon, it's Steve Rogers. You know, Captain America?” his mother said.

Marcus then made a face. “I like Ironman better. Why didn't he come?”   
“Marcus!” his mother demanded, embarrassed by his lack of manners in front of such a celebrity.

“That's what I was wondering,” Steve muttered in response, glaring at Natasha.

“What about this?” Marcy jumped in, shoving the plush dinosaur in the birthday boy's face. “I said I'd make you one.”

His eyes widened to twice their side. The dinosaur was nearly as big as he was. “Woah! That's so cool!”

“Rar!” she barked at the kids. “Rar! Rar! Rar! Rar!”

They all squealed and scampered off, Marcy chasing after them with the dinosaur.

Steve watched them go then turned to Natasha. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with that kid,” he accused. “You said he was sick!”

Natasha just smirked at him, very satisfied with herself.

“Just when I was starting to trust you.”

Clint was nowhere to be seen. He was probably still inside, spying on the cake.

The remaining two watched the SHIELD agent chase children around before Natasha turned to the taller blond man. “Ask Agent Gray out. I'm sure she'll say yes.”

Steve just sighed.

* * *

 

 

Marcy turned around and almost ran into a taller, scruffy man with a cup of coffee in his hands.

“Oh! Mr. Stark!”

“Agent Gray,” he nodded.

“I wasn't expecting to see you here. I thought your contract with SHIELD had ended.”

He waved her off. “Just dropping by for the day to make sure all my new security systems are working properly. Plus, I was jonesing for the good stuff.” He held up his cup in emphasis before taking a sip. “Ever considered coming to work for me? I'd pay you well to keep me supplied.”

She smiled at him. “I don't really see going from SHIELD agent to coffee girl as moving up in the world.”

“Fair enough.”

Just then, Steve Rogers walked by as he usually did around that time every morning. Marcy took a deep breath and called out to him with a little more confidence than she usually did. “Good morning, Captain Rogers.”

This time, for the first time, he paused, backtracked, and pointed a finger at her in an 'I gotcha' motion. “Agent Gray, good morning.”

She smiled, glancing away. Actually having his full attention on her was almost too much to take.

“By the way,” Tony put in. “I saw Barton this morning. He said he put a present in your office for you. Is it your birthday?”

Marcy suddenly looked suspicious. “No. And I'm not expecting anything either.”

Tony jerked his head. “Let's go see what it is.”

Marcy seemed dubious, but walked down the hall to her office, Tony right at her heels. Steve lingered back, but he was curious, so he followed a few paces behind.

Upon reaching the dark office, Marcy flipped on the lights and immediately stumbled back out into the hall when she saw a humanoid figure standing there in the middle of the room. Tony tried to catch her, spilling a little of his beloved coffee.

“Oh God!” Marcy blurted out, wide eyes on her 'present'.

Seeing her distress, Steve lurched forward, ready to protect all that needed protecting. Marcy saw him coming and a second “Oh God!” slipped from her lips as she scrambled into the office.

“Agent Gray, are you alright?” Steve asked as he poked his head in.

Marcy gasped at his entrance, her face flushed as she tried to hide something behind her. Unfortunately for her, the form was taller and wider than she was. “It's fine! Everything's fine! You can go!”

Steve furrowed his brows at the likeness. “Is that... me?”

Marcy glanced back in embarrassment, the life-sized cardboard cut out of Captain America smiled back at her. Someone- most likely Clint- had taped a word bubble to the head that read “Hey baby, call me for a good time.”

“I did not put this here!” she insisted a bit too loudly.

Tony was no help at all. To his credit, he was trying very hard not to laugh. But he was choking so much, he couldn't drink his coffee.

“I didn't ask him for it!” Marcy continued, completely mortified by now. “Barton's just pranking me.”

Steve sat there, stewing at the sight of his own cardboard face, arms crossed over his chest as he thought. “Yeah, but why is it a picture of me?”

Tony paused to look skyward again. This man was the dumbest in all creation.

Marcy just put a hand to her face, her cheeks were hot to the touch. “Just... just move on.” She said with disgust at herself, flicking her wrist at him. “There's nothing more to see here. Go along with your day.”

“Yeah, but...”

“You heard the woman, move on, Cap,” Tony said. He gave Marcy a sympathetic shake of his head before pushing the taller man down the hall. “Don't you have some orphans to save or an old lady to help across the street?”

Marcy breathed a sigh of relief as they left. She turned to the cutout and silently wondered what the hell she was supposed to do with this thing.

“Like your present?” came a smug, familiar voice.

“Why?” Marcy she demanded, spinning around. “He _saw_ it!”

“You like it,” Clint teased back. “I dare you to throw it away.”

She just frowned at him. “I will get you back for this.”

“I'd like to see you try!” He laughed all the way down the hall.

“You have to sleep sometime, Barton!” she called after him.

* * *

 

 

It wasn't too many days after before Marcy walked into her dark office again and let out a startled shriek at yet another unexpected form standing in her office. Followed shortly by a cry of frustration.

That evening, when Director Fury stepped onto the elevator, a put-out Agent Gray was already there, holding something human-shaped under her arm. He paused to ascertain that it was indeed a cardboard cut out of Tony Stark, in full Iron Man suit, holding his helmet as his side. There was a word bubble taped to it that said “Happy Birthday”.

The two stood in silence for a moment as the elevator descended.

“I thought your birthday was in September,” Fury then said.

“It still is,” she mumbled.

“Then why the hell do you have-”

Her dark look cut him off. The elevator stopped with a ding and the doors open.

“Apparently,” she said with a sigh, “I'm starting a collection.” And she stepped off the elevator and hurried out the doors.

 

 


	4. Extraction

 

**Faded**

**Chapter Four: Extraction**

 

Black Widow ducked behind a car as bullets whizzed by her head. Hawkeye crouched next to her, firing an arrow over their meager shelter. He was rewarded with a pained cry, yet more gunmen just took their place.

“There's too many of them,” Hawkeye growled.

Black Widow said nothing, but she knew they were seriously outgunned.

SHIELD had discovered, quite by accident, a secret nest of Hydra agents still in the city, doing their best to hang onto what few measly strings they could within SHIELD. They were still listening in and plotting with SHIELD intel. Fury ordered the enemy's last stronghold wiped out.

Unfortunately, the attack had been too rash. There were far more Hydra agents than expected. And those agents had a much larger amount of fire power than SHIELD brought with them. Thus, leading to Hawkeye and Black Widow's particular situation.

“I only have two arrows left,” Hawkeye admitted. “We need to get out of here and regroup.”

The pained sound of a man being punched in the gut momentarily paused the gunfire. A few metal clangs of flesh hitting steel and then the barrage started up again. This time, punctuated by bullets bouncing off an impenetrable shield. Natasha glanced above the car just in time to see Captain America dive over it and land next to her.

“There is a lot more manpower out there than we were briefed,” he stated, slightly out of breath.

“Tell me about it,” Natasha responded as she slid another round of bullets into her weapon.

She glanced over again to fire at the enemy when she saw they had pulled out something new. The point of a missile launcher was aimed right for the car they were hiding behind.

“Start running boys!” she called as she took off.

The two men glanced back, saw the danger, and quickly sprinted after her.

Bullets rained around them before the heat of an explosion blew them all off their feet. Hawkeye coughed as his back smacked on the cement, cutting through skin and knocking the wind out of him. His vision spun as he felt a large hand grab the front of his uniform and jerk him to his feet. Hawkeye stumbled after the captain as they found refuge behind a flimsy shed. That wouldn't protect them for long.

“This is Black Widow,” her voice cut through the heavy sound of machine guns. “Hawkeye, Captain America and I are pinned down and out gunned. Any teams in the area? We could use some assistance.”

“This is Gamma Team,” a voice replied, the connection full of static. “We had to pull back. Nowhere near your position. Waiting for back up to arrive.”

A second voice came on, but the connection was so bad, it was hard to make out any words. The tone seemed to suggest help would not be coming from that direction. The lines to the other teams remained dead.

“Looks like we're on our own,” Natasha said.

Hawkeye stared at her, his eyes intense on her face. “If we don't make it out of this...”

A voice suddenly came through the radio, the connection crystal clear.

“This is Agent Gray. I read you, Black Widow. Stand by for extraction in thirty seconds.”

Black Widow glanced around the shed, the enemy agents were loading another missile. “I don't know if we have that long.”

The missile was loaded. The three Avengers prepared themselves for another explosion when a large, black SUV barged out of nowhere. It thundered through the group of gunmen, scattering and wounding them, before racing toward the three awed agents.

Marcy poked her head out of the driver's side window. “Get in.”

She didn't have to tell them twice. There seemed to be another agent sitting in the front passenger side so all three piled into the back. Steve sat in the middle with Hawkeye and Black Widow on either side. They slammed the doors shut behind them and the vehicle tore off, tires squealing.

“Nice save, Marcy,” Hawkeye said. “I didn't know you were put on this mission.”

“I wasn't,” she replied. “I happened to be in the area when I caught your distress signal. I was on the way home from picking my mom up at the airport.”

Captain America leaned forward, concerned he did not hear that correctly. “I'm sorry?”

From the front passenger seat, a woman who appeared to be in her early 50's turned to them, her smile bright when she saw Hawkeye.

“Clint! So lovely to see you, darling!”

The corners of Hawkeye's mouth suddenly ticked up into a surprised smile. “Claudia. It's been a while.”

“Oh, too long, dear. Far too long.” Marcy's mother then turned her attention to Black Widow. “And Natasha, you look lovely as ever.”

She shrugged. “Well, considering what we just went through.”

The older woman waved a well manicured hand. “Oh, this is nothing. You should have seen us when we were in Istanbul and-”

“Not right now, mother,” Marcy cut her off in a tight voice. “We're not out of this yet.”

Behind them, three military-grade jeeps raced after them, each carrying several fully armed Hydra agents. Marcy stepped on the gas. Black Widow rolled down the window as bullets ricocheted off the back window of the vehicle behind them. She fired at the closest car, knocking one man off the top. But the bullets kept coming.

Hawkeye rolled down his window and fired the last of his arrows. It hit the tire of the first jeep and the vehicle went careening out of control, flipping over on its hood.

“That's one down, but I'm out,” he announced.

Natasha wordlessly reached over Captain America and handed Hawkeye one of her guns. The two continued to fire out of the windows.

Then, the older woman's eyes finally fell on the middle passenger in the back seat. “I don't think we've met before. I'm Claudia Shepherd, Marcy's mom.”

Sitting there, shield at his knees with nothing else to do, the captain nodded. “It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

Claudia clutched her chest, looking at her daughter. “Oh, he's so polite, this one. Where did you find him?”

Marcy's eyes were glued to the traffic as she skirted around the cars. “In the ice near the north pole.”

“Beg pardon?” her mother asked.

“Captain Steve Rogers, ma'am,” he answered for her.

The older woman suddenly looked at him as if seeing him for the first time all over again. “Oh, Captain America, of course.” She laughed at herself. “The uniform should have given it away, what was I thinking?” She turned to address her daughter, a hand on her knee. “I must say, Marcy, he is far more handsome in person. Bigger, too. Do you see all the muscles he has?”

“He can hear you, mother,” Marcy cut in with a tight voice. “And I'm trying to drive.”

“Oh goodness me, Captain Rogers, where are my manners?” Claudia continued, ignoring her daughter. “It's such a tight fit back there, you should have the front seat. Here, I'll switch with you. Just let me get my purse.”

Marcy glanced to the side just in time to see her mother's back end thrust in her face as she attempted to climb into the back.

“Mom! Now is not the time!” she barked. “We're in the middle of a fight!”

“I was just trying to-”

“Sit down and put your seat belt on!” Marcy glanced in the back, fire in her eyes. “All of you! Put your seat belts on!”

Click. Click. Click.

All seat belts were on. All Avengers sat stiff and silent. Marcy gunned the engine.

The SUV lurched forward, the two pursuing jeeps at its bumper. The radio came on. Marcy glanced at her rear view mirror, locking eyes with Captain America before assessing the two vehicles behind them.

They sped off onto the busier roads of the city, bullets chasing after them.

“You know, Marcy,” her mother began. “if you take the exit onto center street and then...”

The rest of what she said was drowned out as Marcy pointedly turned up the radio so loud no normal speech could be heard. Her mother huffed in surrender and let it be.

In the back, Captain America couldn't help but feel the situation had become a bit surreal. They were all strapped in the back like good little children, radio blaring some song he never heard before. Black Widow sat calmly to his right, looking like they were out on a family vacation. To his left, Hawkeye nodded his head to the beat of The Bangels' “Walk Like an Egyptian”, fingers tapping on his knee.

“Shouldn't we be doing something?” the captain asked above the noise.

“Take it easy and let her work,” Clint said. “She's very good at this.”

“I thought she just made the coffee!” Steve protested.

The SUV raced through traffic, dodging cars right and left. The base of the music thrummed all around them, the hail of bullets unable to break the thick glass of the SHIELD issue vehicle at their backs. It was a Sunday and the traffic was sparse. The SUV, though heavy for protection, was slower than the military vehicles tearing after them.

“Stupid, heavy boat,” Marcy muttered to herself.

Hydra caught up on either side of her, bombarding the vehicle on both sides with heavy rapid fire.

“We need to lose them fast,” Natasha said. “This car isn't going to take too much more abuse.”

One of the Jeeps jerked toward them, intent on running them off the road. Marcy slammed on the breaks. The jeep swerved, nearly hitting its partner as they both raced far ahead of the stopped SHIELD vehicle.

Marcy instantly put them in reverse, pulling the car even further away from the enemy. She turned her head, one arm grabbing the back of her seat.

“Duck your head, Captain.”

Captain America bent forward, allowing her to see out the back window as the SUV now raced in reverse through incoming traffic. Captain America felt assured they were going to die in a head on collision as they dodged one honking car after another. Marcy remained calm, even mouthing the words of the song as they drove.

 

_If you want to find all the cops_  
They're hanging out in the doughnut shop  
They sing and dance  
(Oh whey oh)  
They spin the clubs cruise down the block.

 

By then, the two jeeps had turned around and were racing back toward them, also fighting their way through the oncoming traffic. The three opposite-driving vehicles raced onto a freeway bridge and Marcy slammed on the breaks once more. This time, however, she didn't move forward. A car quickly swerved, narrowly missing the stalled vehicle.

“Um, there's two semis coming,” Captain America noticed with a quick glance out the back. We need to move.”

Marcy faced forward. “Activate front cannons,” she told the vehicle's computer. “Fire.”

Two large automatic barrels appeared out of the hood of the SUV and completely obliterated the concrete safety blockade on the bridge.

“Semi's coming!” Captain America reminded.

The two jeeps were closing in from the front as well.

Marcy gunned the engines. The SUV lurched forward, tires squealing. It launched itself off the bridge and into the open air. Down below, a second freeway ran perpendicular to the bridge. As they soared through the air, a massive trailer carrying a nearly full load of brand new cars appeared below them.

As if placed there by the hand of God Himself, the SUV landed in the last slot of the trailer, which just happened to be the only empty one. Above, one jeep swerved to get out of the way of the incoming semis, colliding with its partner. The two vehicles totaled themselves in a ball of fire.

Captain America glanced back at the explosion before letting out the breath he didn't know he had been holding.

Hawkeye smiled at him, cool as a cucumber. “I told you she was good at this.”

Marcy glanced through her rear view mirror, lowering the volume of the radio. “Natasha, do you want to let us down?”

“Can't,” she replied, holding up her empty clip. “I'm out.”

“Mother, there's a gun in the glove box.”

Claudia reached for the weapon. But instead of handing it back to Natasha, she rolled down the window herself. Leaning out, it took two shots before the lock was broken and the SUV was allowed to slide off the ramp and onto the street. They took off down the road, eager to put more distance between them and the attack site.

Black Widow climbed over the captain, grabbing the radio receiver on the dashboard. “HQ, this is Alpha Team, Black Widow speaking. Extraction was successful. If we can get more ammo we're ready to go back in.”

Nicholas Fury himself responded on the other line. “No need. The situation has been contained. Return home Alpha Team.”

Black Widow furrowed her brow. “Are you sure you don't need us?”

“You're not the only competent agents I have, you know,” Fury shot back. “We sent in a second wave and just the mere threat of unleashing Bruce Banner on them sent most of their guys out in surrender. Situation is under control. Return home, Alpha Team.”

The car was quiet for a moment.

“Well, that was fun,” Claudia announced. “It made me feel like a young agent again. How about we all go out to lunch after this? My treat.”

“I'm in,” Clint immediately said.

Marcy just sighed. She had no idea how her mother managed to survive an entire career as a field agent when she was this oblivious.

* * *

 

 

“So, you were a SHIELD agent yourself,” Steve surmised as he walked outside the parameter of SHIELD HQ. The older woman at his side had one hand resting on his arm as he guided her around.

“Yes, I was. As was my father, in fact,” Claudia Shepherd confirmed. “He was in the US Marines before that and was one of the first agents invited to SHIELD after it was founded. His specialty was extraction- much like Marcy's, as you saw. He liked making sure he got his men out safely.”

“But you weren't extraction?” Steve then asked.

“Me? No, I wasn't too good at the waiting part. I was in espionage. I liked thrill of the mission, the secrecy, the excitement. I could never sit still too long back in those days. Too much to see, too much to do.”

“I'm sorry if this is a rude question, ma'am. But you and Agent Gray don't have the same last name. Was she adopted?”

Claudia patted his arm with a laugh. “No, no. She's mine. Her father and I never married, God rest his soul. Times were different when I was young.” She smiled with sweet nostalgia. “I had been separated from my team, hunted by the enemy, trekking through backwoods and forest lands. I was hurt and exhausted when I stumbled upon her father's farm. He found me passed out in his barn and took care of me. We fell in love.”

“That's terribly romantic, ma'am.”

“It was,” Claudia agreed with stars in her eyes. “He was such a rugged, serious man. I loved it. We couldn't get enough of each other. I would take any opportunity to visit him, but he wanted me to quit SHIELD. We had Marcy, but he wouldn't marry me as long as I continued working. He said his heart couldn't take letting go of me time after time, not knowing if that would be the time I wouldn't come back.”

“I can understand that,” Steve said softly.

Claudia gave him a thoughtful look. “Have you known my daughter long, Captain?”

Steve took a moment to think about it. “I believe we've been working together for the past several months. But there are a lot of people in that building, so I'm afraid I didn't notice her right away. Even though, apparently, she would greet me every morning.” He admitted the last part apologetically.

Claudia didn't seem to hold that against him. “Yes, well, Marcy has always been very good at fading into the background. It's very helpful to her job, however, not so helpful at making friends. But that's who she has always been. You see, Captain, my Marcy is one of those girls you don't notice unless you slow down and take the time to look. Like a flower in a blooming garden. You can't fully appreciate its individual beauty until you stop and take the time to really see what you're looking at.”

Steve took a moment to think about that. He was about to respond when a female voice cut him off.

“Mom, there you are,” Agent Gray called as she approached them. “They issued us a new car. I've already transferred your bags.”

“Oh, lovely dear.” Claudia turned from her daughter to the man on her arm. “Captain, have you ever considered asking Marcy on a date?”

Steve's jaw fell open. Marcy's dropped twice as far, her eyes wide in horror.

“I think you two would be just a splendid match,” the older woman continued.

“Well, I uh...” Steve floundered.

“Mom, please. I'm sure Captain Rogers has more important things to do.”

“Even captains have downtime. Captain Rogers, you don't have a girlfriend, do you?”

“Uh, no ma'am, but-”

“See? Why not take my daughter out? She's such a homebody. She could use a boyfriend.”

“Well, I...”

Marcy's face was bright red by now. “Mom, I'm sure he is quite capable of getting his own-”

“Oh come now, you two should go out and have a little fun.”

“Please, Mom, you're being rude.”

“Come now, Marcy, you're a beautiful girl. You could get any man you want if you just did a little more with... this.” She gestured to Marcy's appearance in general. “Don't you think I have a beautiful daughter, Captain?”

“I, uh...”

“Please, just drop it,” Marcy pleaded in a low tone, her face turning red.

“Don't be so dramatic, Marcy, it won't hurt to ask him to take you out for just one--”

“HE DOESN'T WANT TO!” Marcy barked out, finally silencing her mother.

Claudia blinked several times at her daughter, her mouth struggling to find the words.

“The car is waiting,” Marcy then said in a more gentle voice. “Let's get you home, it's been a long day.”

Marcy silently mouthed “I am so sorry,” to Steve before Claudia allowed her daughter to silently lead her away.

Steve watched them go, secretly amused more than he had been uncomfortable with the propositions. He remembered when he was a young teen and had a crush on a girl at school. His own mother had embarrassed him to death in front of this girl—he couldn't even remember her face now—trying to get him to ask her out. His mother had died only a few years after.

Even though mothers could be aggravating, he hoped Agent Gray appreciated the fact that she still had one to aggravate her. The side of his mouth ticked up as he watched them go, the murmur from the two woman clear that they were still arguing. He shook his head and walked back into the SHIELD central building.

 

 

 

 


	5. DNR

**Faded**

**Chapter Five: DNR**

 

"Natasha!"  
  
She winced at the sound of her first name by the obnoxiously familiar voice."You haven't, by any chance, seen Agent Gray around, have you?"

The redhead sighed. "I don't know, Stark. Why aren't you asking Fury?"

"Because when I do, he says bad words at me."

Natasha muttered something in Russian that might have also been bad words. Tony couldn't be sure. "Don't you think you're taking this coffee thing a little too far?" she then added in English.

"No, the coffee's fine. The rest of Fury's little worker bees finally managed to concoct a decent brew. " He sipped his cup loudly. "I'm here on behalf of my friend Bruce over there." He motioned down the hall to where Bruce Banner hid around the corner as soon as Natasha glanced his way.

"You see, Red," Tony continued, "despite attempts to keep him busy around here with all your side projects, he still keeps tabs on what's going on in this place. And he just so happened to notice that a group of Fury's flunkies went out three days ago, our own Man out of Time in the lead. They all came back, wounded included. But I can tell you with a certainty that, even though this coffee is passable, it was not made by Agent Gray. And it has not been made by Agent Gray since that team left. So where is she?"

Natasha attempted to keep her poker face, but Tony caught the tightening of her jaw. Something about this bothered her, and that something wasn't necessarily him.

"I wasn't a part of the mission," she said as she shook free of the billionaire and started off. "You'll have to ask Fury, I've got nothing to say."

Tony eyed her shapely back end over his coffee mug as the agent strode off. Once she was gone, Bruce revealed himself and approached his friend.

"See? I knew we shouldn't have said anything. Now she's mad at us."

"More specifically, mad at me. Since I'm the one who has the balls to say something."

"Come on, Tony, I have to work with these people. I didn't want to cause any problems, I just wanted to make sure she was okay. We should just let it go."

Tony raised a brow at him. "Do you want to let it go?"

"Well, yeah- I mean, no- but I'm sure SHIELD looks out for their own, right? If anything really serious happened to her, they would know and they'd say something, right?"

Tony handed his coffee to Bruce and pulled out his phone. He hacked into SHIELD's files in minutes and pulled up Agent Gray's file.

"One thing to never forget about SHIELD, Bruce," Tony said as he showed him the phone screen, "they _never_ tell you everything."

In Agent Gray's file, under status it read in bold, red letters: Lost Contact. Next to those letters flashed three more. DNR. Those letters again. What did that mean?

"Great," Bruce bemoaned. "So what do we do about that?"

"If she is in fact in trouble, we could find out where she is and wreck up the place," Tony offered.

The scientist huffed. "You and me? She'd never have a chance. We'd bring the place down on top of her, not save her. We would be more help if she asked us to water her plants while she was gone."

Tony suddenly tipped his head as a thought came to him. "How many days has she been missing again?"

* * *

 

"Hurry. What if someone sees us?" Bruce hissed, as he tried to discretely cover Tony while he picked the lock of the apartment door.

"Sees us and thinks what?" Tony shot back at a normal volume. "That a world renown billionaire and super hero is breaking into a sub middle-class apartment? Please." The last word was punctuated with a click as the door swung open.

The two walked in and Bruce was happy to close the door behind him into the safety of the apartment. The place was cleaned, but the air held a stuffiness to it that told no one had been home to open a door or a window for several days.

Immediately, a gray tabby cat greeted them and wound itself around their legs, meowing hungrily. Bruce allowed it to lead him to the bathroom where he was sure to find an empty food bowl. Tony took a moment to nose around the rest of the place in hopes of finding some evidence as to where the owner of the apartment had gone.

Unfortunately, Agent Gray was not in the habit of leaving top secret files around where anyone could see them. Tony did, however, find card board cut outs of himself and Captain America. He was a bit disappointed to discover them stuffed in the bedroom closet instead of on full, proud display as he would have imagined.

Upon leaving the bedroom, he encountered Bruce walking back up the hall with a cat carrier in one hand and a full bag of supplies in the other.

"Woah, what are you doing?"

"I'm taking the cat with us," Bruce said pragmatically. "We can't leave it here."

"I can't take it," Tony insisted. "Pepper is extremely allergic and she's coming down to the tower this weekend for some special alone time. So I can't have that furball cockblocking-"

“I thought she was allergic to strawberries,” Bruce cut him off.

“Either way, that animal is not coming with me.”

"I'll take care of it.”

"Take care of it where?" Tony countered. "Do you even have a place? You practically live at SHIELD HQ."

"He can stay in my lab. I owe Agent Gray."

Tony looked at his friend's determined expression. "Whatever you say, boss."

* * *

 

 

"Hey guys," Steve greeted them when they returned to the SHIELD central building. He paused and asked the one question that lower lever agents had been dying to know, but were too afraid of Dr. Banner to speak. "Why do you have a cat?"

Bruce opened his mouth to respond, but Tony beat him to it. "Allow me to answer that question with a more pressing one. Since when are you in the habit of leaving agents behind when you go out on SHIELD errands, Cap?"

Steve furrowed his brows at the shorter man. "What are you talking about?"

"You had a mission several days back? Agent Gray went out as well?"

"Agent Gray?" Steve returned, confused. "She goes out in the field?"

"Yes, she went out-"

"Are you just asking because of the coffee?"

“It _is_ excellent coffee, but pay attention. This is more important. She went out on that mission- your mission- and everyone else came back but her."

"No," Steve immediately denied. "She wasn't there. I never saw her on the team. Her name wasn't on the roster."

"Then where is she?" Tony was no longer looking at Steve, but the man standing behind him.

Steve turned around to see Nick Fury glaring at them all.

"Is that a cat in there?" the director demanded. "I'm not running a damn zoo, this is a place of business!"

"It's Agent Gray's cat," Bruce replied, his voice a bit small, but firm in the face of the glaring SHIELD director. "She hasn't been home to take care of it for several days."

"Why is that, Fury?" Steve asked, rounding on his superior. "Was Agent Gray on my team?"

"She was not a part of your mission," he responded curtly.

"But was she on that plane when you shipped us out?"

"Yes, she was. But what she does and what happens to her has nothing to do with you."

Steve took a step back, guilt hitting him heavily. He had worked so hard to make sure all his soldiers made it back home. "I didn't even see here there..." he muttered.

"Because that's her job," Fury insisted. "I pay her to be invisible. No one sees Agent Gray if she doesn't want them to."

"And even sometimes when she does," Tony muttered, looking pointedly at Steve.

"If I knew she was there, I could have gotten her out!" Steve shot back. "How can I help people- YOUR people- if you don't tell me these things?

"What's DNR?" Tony cut in before Fury could counter. "It's in her file. She's definitely too healthy and young to be given a Do Not Resuscitate order. So what does it mean?"

One good eye was all Fury needed to stare them all down properly. "That information is on a need to know basis and you three do not need to know." He turned on his heel and stormed down the hall with a "Get that damn cat out of my sight!"

The three Avengers watched him go, none of them satisfied with how the conversation ended.

"DNR," a female voice announced, causing them to spin around. Natasha had snuck up behind them. "It means Do Not Recover. Sometimes agents are so deep in their mission that there's no way to get a recovery team in there should something go wrong. The agent has to get themselves out. That's DNR."

"But that wasn't the kind of mission we were on," Steve argued. "It was a raid. Everybody went in at once. There was no reason we couldn't pull everyone out at the same time."

"It wasn't your fault, Steve. She probably just missed the pick up. I'm sure she's fine. She knows how to get herself home."

"That's not the point," Steve shot back, clearly frustrated.

"Does she even know about this?" Bruce asked.

"Sure she does," Natasha insisted. "If she didn't agree to it, she wouldn't have gone. She knows what's expected."

"And Barton knows, too?" Tony said. "I haven't seen him around lately."

"Oh, he knows. In fact he's under house arrest right now. Clint has a past history of ignoring DNRs, so SHIELD has been keeping an eye on him."

"I'm sure that makes him happy."  
  
"Oh, he's pissed. But there's nothing he or I can do about it- no matter how bad we want to. We have our orders and Agent Gray knew the risks going in. Now we have to wait for her to get herself out."

"Something tells me most if not all of Agent Gray's missions are DNRs," Tony said with a raised brow.

"She has a special... condition that makes it necessary," Natasha confirmed.

"And that would be?"

"It's classified. You'll have to ask Fury if you want clearance to that information."

There was a nearly audible groan of disappointment from the three men.  
  
"Look, it sucks, I know. But she'll make it back home," Natasha said. "Have a little faith."

* * *

 

 

Steve Rogers had very little room for faith at the moment. Every time he thought there were no more secrets to be kept from him, another one popped up. Every time he felt he would be okay with how SHIELD ran things, something else made him question their morals. He felt used. He felt like an idiot. And he felt that if something happened to Agent Gray, it would be his fault. She didn't strike him as a very confident or dangerous person. How did Fury think she would survive this mission alone?

The renewed thought the missing agent left a heaviness in his gut. Everyone on his roster was accounted for, there was no extra person on that plane. How did he miss her? How did he not even see her in the field when the fighting went down?

As he combed over the mission in his mind, Steve recalled when they were trying to get into the Hydra base: a metal fortress sequestered in the Carpathian Mountains. The enemy had them pinned down outside under heavy fire. The automatic base defenses had been so strong, his team almost pulled back in retreat. Then suddenly, Hydra's defense grid went offline. SHIELD was then able to push their way inside and take over the base.

Had that been Agent Gray? If so, how did she get inside when the rest of his agents couldn't? Why hadn't he questioned this stroke of luck? He was such an idiot.

Steve tortured himself the whole day with the what-ifs and all his personal failures as he stalked through SHIELD central. Most employees were unused to seeing the stormy side of Captain Rogers and quickly got out of his way. While he was normally greeted by everyone, today he was given a wide berth and other SHIELD members left him alone.

Late in the afternoon, after trying to blow off some steam in the residential gym, Steve was ready to just give it up and go home. He couldn't concentrate on anything, he might as well call it a day. As he was heading out, Natasha called to him.

“Hey Steve, you want to take one of the jets out?”

He paused and glanced back at her, now both irritated and confused. “What? Why?”

“Agent Gray called in from the safe house in Brasov. She needs a pick up. You can do it if you want to, or we'll send the usual guy.”

Steve blinked at her, trying to process this sudden turn of events when he had been so focused on his bad mood all day.

Natasha just smirked. “I told you to have a little faith.”

“Are you coming, too?” Steve finally asked.

She immediately looked bored. “No, I have other things to do than fly to Romania so I can be there for a whole five minutes and then fly back home. You want to make her your responsibility, Rogers, you go get her yourself. Or Agent Meyers can, he's already gassing up the jet.”

Steve frowned, brows furrowed at the proposition.

“Take your time, Rogers. You probably have about another five minutes to decide.”

With another hard look, Steve turned on his heel and walked briskly away. Natasha smiled after him.

* * *

 

 

It was an eleven-hour flight from New York to Romania by regular commercial jets. The quinjets of SHIELD could cut that time in half. Steve pushed it even harder. In a little more than four hours, he landed the cloaked jet on the designated abandoned building as was instructed. Heavy storm clouds grumbled above as he walked through Brasov in street clothes, looking for his destination. He found the aged hotel indicated on his map as the sky split open and a few random drops immediately turned into a downpour. Those who had been walking outside now rushed for cover and Steve picked up the pace to get himself inside the hotel that also doubled as a safe house for SHIELD agents.

Nearly to the front doors, something triggered his instincts. Not everyone was running for cover. He felt more than saw the presence of another person just standing in the front courtyard of the vintage hotel, unmoving, making no attempt to flee from the rain. Turning, he saw her.

For the past few months, Steve had grown used to seeing Agent Gray at work. Admittedly, it took him a while to remember her face and there were still times, he was sure, when he hadn't noticed her in passing when his mind was distracted with other things. When he did notice her, she barely stayed in his mind, with her blandly professional look, hair always pulled back but never well enough to look right. She was an awkward cutout of a professional agent; something artificial. Incomplete people, those so lacking substance they had to pretend to be something they weren't, never interested him.

Yet, there stood Agent Gray, head turned to the sky as the rain washed over her face. She had traded her SHIELD uniform for more inconspicuous street clothes: a green turtle neck and brown knee-length skirt with flats. Her hair was down for the first time he had ever seen it, wet tendrils clinging to her face and neck, her expression blissful and relaxed. This Agent Gray Steve had never seen before. This one was real. She was vintage, timeless in her new look. Nostalgia hit Steve hard, making his chest ache.

Approaching, he almost called her 'Agent', then realized that would be a suspicious thing to say under the guise of pretending to be a normal citizen. What was her first name again?

“Marcy.”

Her head snapped toward him, startled at her name. Even more startled up seeing who it was and her cheeks flushed a little. It was probably the first time she had looked him right in the face. The thunder boomed heavy and loud between them, so hard they felt it in their bodies.

“Captain Rogers. Did you stay in Romania this whole time?” she asked him. It had been a few days now since the mission ended.

His eyes latched onto the healing cut and bruises on the far side of her face, now visible when she looked his way. “I just flew in to pick you up.”

“What about Meyers? He usually does the pickups.”

“It was my responsibility to make sure everyone got out safely. I'm sorry you were left behind.”

The surprise now dropped from her face, replaced with slight disappointment. “So this is a pity pickup.”

It was Steve's turn to be taken off guard by that statement. “What? No, that's not...”

“Did you come here because you felt guilty?” Marcy asked.

His response was stubborn silence.

Marcy gave a mirthless smile of acceptance and turned toward the hotel, the rain still pelting them both. “I'll get my things.”

* * *

 

 

The jet was silent as it wobbled a little at takeoff. The storm didn't help any as high winds began to add to the heavy rain. It was a shaky flight until they pulled up higher above the storm clouds and into the sun. The cockpit of the jet, however, still smelled like rain and wet hair.

Steve kept glancing back to his passenger, the wounds on the side of her face and forehead distracting him. “Are you okay? Do you need any medical attention?”

She actually laughed. “This really is a pity pickup.”

“It is not a pity pickup! I am responsible for my team. If anything, it's a matter of personal pride that I get all my people out. Even the ones that no one told me about.”

His accusing tone at the end did not phase her. She just smiled and shook her head.

“And I remember you saying something about being retired from the field. What were you doing out there anyway?”

“More like mostly retired. I was asked to slip in through the cracks on this one.”

The autopilot on the jet allowed him to swivel his chair in her direction and watch her thoughtfully for several moments. “You... are used to slipping through the cracks, aren't you?”

That made her look away self-consciously, combing her fingers through her wet as she suddenly felt inadequate under his scrutinizing gaze. “It's what the job requires. And I'm good at it.”

Steve didn't know what to say to that; neither did Marcy. They fell into an odd silence; not necessarily awkward, but slightly uneasy. Probably less uneasy for Steve. He wasn't the one sitting with a person he never thought he'd be alone with in a hundred years. And all she had done so far was give him grief for coming to get her. She was blowing this opportunity big time. But what was she supposed to say to him? What could she possible say that would make her stand out above all the other women at HQ that flirted with him and tried to get his attention?

Marcy didn't dare try. She didn't know how to flirt and be interesting to a man who was already plenty interesting for the both of them. She was too afraid he would just find her more irritating than she probably already was to him. And they still had five hours of of this flight left, of being stagnant and meaning nothing to each other, because she a coward.

“I'm going to go practice,” she mumbled as she wandered to the back of the jet.

“What?” Steve glanced back as she got up. She was already gone. He wondered if he had heard correctly.

For a while, he was left up front alone to focus on his flying. His thoughts eventually wandered back to the courtyard of that Romanian hotel. Something about seeing a woman standing in the rain, enjoying the reprieve of the weather, struck him. When was the last time he had been outside just to enjoy the sun or the rain?

The unexpected sound of music threw him from his thoughts and he glanced behind him to find Marcy hunched in one of the back seats.

“Are you playing the _guitar_?” It was the fact that there was a musical instrument at all in the jet that baffled him the most.

“I'm practicing the guitar,” Marcy clarified. “I started playing last year. I knew I was going to have a good five hours to kill so I asked Meyers to pack it so I could get some practice in on the way back. If it's annoying, I can stop.”

“So, you knew you were going to need to be picked up from this mission,” Steve accused.

She nearly laughed as she shot back. “That's why I gave you crap for the pity pickup. There's no pity pickups in SHIELD, Captain Rogers.”

The second she said it, she blanched at herself. What if she was just being even more irritating now? To her relief, he laughed at her teasing. “I guess you're right. Do you want to play that up here?”

Her cheeks flushed slightly. “You sure? I'm still learning. I can't always find time to practice.”

He tipped his head toward the seat next to him. “Sure. I'd love to hear it.”

She gathered her music and her guitar and packed it all up front.

“Did you really just randomly decide last year you were going to learn the guitar?”

“Sure, I always wanted to. I figured if I didn't do it soon, I was never going to do it. I am not super great at it though, so don't expect a concert.”

To her delight, he smiled. “Come on, just one song? Play something for me.”

Her cheeks were warm, having his attention on her, having him ask something of her. She wished he was asking for something she was better at. She fiddled through her music, trying to decide which one she could play with the least amount of mistakes.

She began strumming, slow and careful. Steve could see she was nervous to play for him and smiled in encouragement. He didn't expect her to sing as well, but her voice came out, shaking a little as she told her story.

 

 _I am just a poor boy_  
_Though my story's seldom told_  
 _I have squandered my resistance_  
 _For a pocket full of mumbles, such are promises_  
 _All lies and jests_  
 _Still a man hears what he wants to hear_  
 _And disregards the rest, mmmm_

 

 _When I left my home and my family_  
_I was no more than a boy_  
 _In the company of strangers_  
 _In the quiet of the railway station_  
 _Running scared,_  
 _Laying low, seeking out the poorer quarters_  
 _Where the ragged people go_  
 _Looking for the places_  
 _Only they would know_

 

As she sang her chorus of 'lie la lies', he looked away. She would never sing professionally, but there was something haunting in her voice. He was not prepared to be hit so hard by the lyrics of this song he had never heard before. He was not prepared for the painful heaviness in his chest.

 

 _Then I'm laying out my winter clothes_  
_And wishing I was gone_  
 _Going home_  
 _Where the New York City winters_  
 _Aren't bleeding me_  
 _Leading me_  
 _Going home_

 

 _In the clearing stands a boxer_  
_And a fighter by his trade_  
 _And he carries the reminders_  
 _Of ev'ry glove that laid him down_  
 _Or cut him till he cried out_  
 _In his anger and his shame_  
 _"I am leaving, I am leaving"_  
 _But the fighter still remains, mmmm_

 

By the end of the song, he was no longer Captain America, flying a SHIELD issue state-of-the-art jet. He was little Steve Rogers, panting and angry in a Brooklyn alley, his lip bloody, dirty gray flakes of the first snow falling into his hair. He could see his breath in front of him as frustration boiled in his body. He had been taken back so easily to a New York that no longer existed. He remembered the dirty city, struggling as a young man barely older than a kid to make it in a world without his parents. And he yearned to go back there.

After the music ended, he was still back there, unaware of even the clouds passing by outside.

“Captain?”

He glanced her way, suddenly back in the present, his heart longing. Realizing his eyes were wet, he quickly looked straight ahead again.

“Sorry if it wasn't very good.”

“I liked it,” Steve said softly.

Silence fell heavy between them again. Marcy pressed her lips together, determined not to let the silence go on this time.

“So... do you... watch movies?”

His mouth ticked up a little. “I've been known to watch a movie.” Before she could ask the obvious question of what he had seen lately, he said, “That song, where could I listen to it again?”

* * *

 

 

“No, Banner, there's no denying it,” Tony insisted. “You two are work married now.”

“What?” Bruce protested as they walked down the hall together. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation was uncharacteristically loud, especially for Bruce. Usually he was very quiet and careful when he moved around the building. But the two scientists had been working late, keeping each other excited with odd theories and and new ideas to tinker with in the coming weeks. Both men, so used to working alone, swallowed in their own worlds, were greatly enjoying each others' company. Having another brain on the same level to bounce ideas off of had offered wide strides in each others' research. And they just plain enjoyed the company.

Especially Dr. Banner, who had lived much of his adult life in solitary since the coming of the Hulk. It meant a lot to him to have someone, anyone, treat him like a real person. Someone who wasn't afraid to be near him and talk to him like he was a normal human being. Even if Tony told it like it was a little too much.

“You know, work married. When you have that coworker that you work well with—the one of the opposite sex variety. I'm not talking about myself, of course.”

“No, Agent Gray and I are not like that, Tony.”

“No? You're the only one who even noticed when she was missing.”

“That doesn't mean anything.”

“What did she do when you told her you watched her cat?”

“I didn't even need to do that. She said she asked her neighbor to feed the cat until she got back. Apparently I almost gave this old woman a heart attack because the cat was suddenly gone.”

“Okay, but how did she thank you?”

“She gave me a hug.”

“And?”

“... Bought me dinner, but that--”

“She's your work wife. You like having her around.”

Bruce let out a loud sigh.

“Don't take it bad, Banner. Lots of people have a work wife. It's not cheating on your girl... whatsherface?”

“Betty.”

“And when do I get to meet her?”

“It's complicated, Tony. I told you.”

As they walked up the hall, the rumble of loud music reached their ears through the wall. This was not unusual. They were passing the gym area where it was common for employees to blare their music while they worked out. The line of windows allowed for anyone passing by to see who was inside. The gym was empty, save one person.

Steve Rogers was at the pull-up bar, Simon and Garfunkle's “The Only Living Boy in New York” playing loud and clear through the gym. The captain slowly lifted himself up and down, his gaze out in the distance. His mind was on something far, far away from this place.

 _Half of the time we're gone_  
_But we don't know where,_  
 _And we don't know where_

“Bruce, you ever see Cap listen to any type of music ever?”

“No, never.”

“Well, I guess starting in the 60's is a good a place as any.” Tony clapped his hand on Bruce's shoulder as they continued down the hall. “Anyway, your girl Pam--”

“Betty.”

“Let me hook you up. I'll talk to your work wife to get a location. We'll send down a limo to pick her up, we'll have you looking less homeless, waiting inside. The driver will take you anywhere you want to go and it will all be very on the down-low, no one will even know she's gone.”

Bruce laughed. “No one will notice she left in a limo? Tony, you have no idea on how to do subtle, do you?”

“Not a clue, Banner. Not a clue.”

 

 


	6. The Pity Save

**Faded**

**Chapter Five: The Pity Save**

 

Jillian had stopped him in the hall for some conversation. She had done this a few times before and they always had a nice, albeit brief talk. But today was different. Today, Steve found himself slowly backed up against the wall, Jillian pushing further into his personal space.

“So what do you think?” Jillian asked. “Maybe you and I could go out for drinks sometime?”

Steve could barely register the words. Her body was too close to his, and all he could do was stare at that purple hair hovering just below his chin. Why purple? What possessed these modern girls to do that to their hair? Steve understood that girls liked to be individuals and express themselves. He wished them all the luck and happiness with that. But these modern girls... so many of them were more than he was ready for.

His back was flattened against the wall. He had run out of retreating room.

Jillian moved into his space, her breasts lightly brushing against him for just a momentary tease. “Then, maybe later I could show you my new place. It's really nice.” She raised a manicured nail and scraped it lightly over the material on his chest.

Steve's heart fluttered, the sensation brought goosebumps to his arms and a ripple down his spine. Yet, he was not enjoying himself. Inwardly, he felt ridiculous that he, Captain America, didn't know how to handle the situation with one pushy woman. He was pathetic.

Jillian stood on her toes, leaning up so her breath stirred over his mouth. She smelled like cigarettes.

“We could even try out my new bed,” she rasped.

Steve's mouth fell open, trying to find the words as his brain scrambled in all directions.

“The springs are quite nice.”

His mind went blank.

“Steve,” a sharp female voice cut through the tension.

Steve would have guessed it to be Natasha. No woman commanded attention like she did. It wasn't the confident redhead, however, but Agent Gray who stood before the two, hands on her hips.

“I've been waiting for you,” she demanded, looking them over. “Those reservations won't keep all night. You're the one who begged me to go. So are you coming?”

Steve worked his mouth again, and this time he found his voice. “Right. Right. I can't wait. I've been looking forward to it all week, really.” He glanced at Jillian who had finally backed up a little. “Sorry, but I've got to go.”

The purple-haired woman's face went tight as if she smelled something foul. She gave the stink eye to Agent Gray but said nothing.

Steve hurried away, eager to take advantage of his window of opportunity.

Agent Gray put an arm loosely around his torso in a fairly innocent touch with a “Come on, babe.” She threw a warning glare at Jillian as they walked off.

Steve was still reeling from the whole encounter as they turned the next corner and Agent Gray's arm instantly dropped away from him.

“How did I do, Captain Rogers?” she asked in that softer tone he was more familiar with.

Steve saw her small, secretive smile and couldn't help but smile back. “I think you saved me.”

“You looked like you needed a save.”

“Jillian is a very nice girl, but she... I just didn't...”

“You didn't want to hurt her feelings,” Agent Gray finished for him. “Because you're a good person. I didn't mind being the bad guy for you.”

She kept walking and Steve had to increase his pace to keep up with her.

“I haven't seen seen you in a few weeks.” This time, he had actually noticed when she wasn't around to tell him good morning. When she had been absent from his routine for several days, he started to ask around for her. Bruce had insisted he still saw her here and there, usually after hours. So she was in the building, she was just making herself scarce for some reason. Natasha told him to keep his pants on. Agent Gray was very good at being in visible when she didn't want to be found. When she was ready to come out, he would see her then and not a moment before. So Steve remained patient.

“Kept to myself until this looked better,” she said, pointing to her temple where her wounds had now mostly healed. “I'm vain that way. Plus Fury would rather any outside activities on my part be kept on the down-low. Even here.”

Right. Because SHIELD had secrets within secrets. Steve had to keep reminding himself of that. He continued to walk with Marcy right up to her office. She stepped inside and gathered a few files and a notebook from her desk. Steve loitered against the door frame.

“So, was that a pity save you did back there?” he asked with humor.

She smiled at him, reflecting that humor as she brushed back out of the office and down the hall toward the elevator.

“Because there's no pity saves in SHIELD,” Steve continued the joke, catching up to her again.

They both paused at the elevator and Marcy pushed the arrow button pointing up.

“And you still haven't explained to me how you got left behind in Romania. How exactly did I miss you? I counted everyone: both when we left and came back.”

Marcy gave him with a secretive smile. However, she offered no answer.

“Fine,” Steve surrendered. The elevator dinged and they both got on. “But I still feel like I owe you. For the mission and for... the pity save.”

Marcy raised a brow at him as the doors closed. “Captain America owes me a favor?” She pressed a button to one of the upper floors.

“Sure do. Name it; anything.”

As the elevator rose, Marcy produced a pen and scribbled something down in her notebook. Then she tore off the top part of the paper and handed it to him. Steve read over the words and then looked at her curiously.

“Say it,” Marcy said. “But don't be silly about it. Say it like you mean it.”

A smile tugged at the soldier's mouth. He tipped his head toward her, blue eyes looking her in the face. One hand rested on his belt.

“ _Just doing my duty, ma'am._ ”

Marcy jerked her head away when she could no longer keep a serious face. A smile forced its way on her lips wider and wider. She brushed a few stray strands from her face as she kept glancing to and away from him, completely tickled. Steve was starting to find her windswept look more endearing than distracting. Her smile, when she smiled like that, was infectious.

The doors opened and she stepped out.

“Are you sure there's not something I can do for you?” Steve called after her.

“You've already done it,” Marcy replied over her shoulder. There was a lightness in her voice he had never heard before. Steve found himself wanting to hear it again.

She continued down the hall to a desk situated before large double doors with a huge SHIELD logo painted from floor to ceiling.

“These are for Director Fury when he gets in tomorrow,” she told the secretary. “Have a good night.”

“You, too, Agent Gray.”

Marcy turned back down the hall to find that Steve Rogers and the elevator that brought them up were both gone. She took a deep breath to swallow the disappointment that he had not waited for her. He had no reason to. As she waited for the elevator to come back up, she considered herself lucky to merely have his attention to herself for a moment. Besides, he gave her a fond memory to look back upon and she couldn't help but smile again when she thought of his face when he said those words.

After returning to her office for her jacket and switching to a pair for more comfortable shoes, Marcy walked out of the building, toward the parking lot to retrieve her car.

“Agent Gray.”

The male voice calling her name caused her heart to flutter and she froze in her steps before turning around. There stood Steve Rogers next to his motorcycle, two helmets in his hands.

“Sorry I left earlier, I had to run down and grab my extra helmet.”

She approached him, eyes curious. “Why is that?”

“I saw you once, just standing there looking at my bike.”

Marcy glanced away a little embarrassed to be caught.

Steve gently put a helmet in her hands. “I figured out how I'll make it up to you.”

* * *

 

 

The roar of the motorcycle engine cut out all opportunities for conversation, but Marcy didn't care. This was enough, she couldn't ask for anything else after tonight. She could die happy having Steve Rogers in her arms, holding him from behind as they drove through the city in the afternoon glow. Though still spring, it was warm enough outside that her jacket was enough to keep her comfortable. Even if it wasn't, she wouldn't have said a thing. She would gladly stay with Steve Rogers until he decided their evening was done.

Marcy had her eyes closed, enjoying the warmth and the solid feel of his body against the crispness of the cool night air when the motorcycle slowed to a stop. She looked out at the pier, the lights, and all the people wandering through the shops.

“What are we doing here?”

Steve removed his helmet. “I'm hungry, are you hungry?”

She grinned. “Starving.”

There was a small seafood place right on the pier where they decided to get fish and fries. As Marcy reached for her cash, Steve stopped her.

“No need, I'm paying.”

“You don't have to,” she argued. “I've got money.”

“I know, but I owe you, remember?”

She smirked. “Trust me, you've paid me back in spades already.”

“But I haven't done anything for you yet!” Steve protested in a surprisingly emphatic voice. “Why do you expect so little of me?”

“I don't know why you keep feeling like you owe me. I promise you don't. But if you want to buy me food, then please.” She motioned toward the ordering counter. “I'll happily eat it and then we can be even. Sound good?”

“Good,” Steve said, sounding pleased. “And I'm getting extra onion rings so you better have some.”

Marcy smirked at him. She would take whatever he wanted to give her.

* * *

 

 

“So I called her, mostly to get Natasha off my back,” Steve said after chewing another bite of his fish burger. “But I really just wanted to see if I could do it. I mean, it's been ninety years since I asked a girl out- at least. And I certainly wasn't a pro at it back then either.”

“And her name was Sharon?” Marcy asked as she sipped her straw. “I think I know which agent you're talking about. She quit and joined the CIA, right?”

“Right. The whole Hydra thing didn't sit well with her. I didn't blame her at all. We went out and it was... pretty nice. But then I found out her last name was Carter.”

Marcy looked at him blankly. She didn't see what was wrong with Agent Carter.

“As in Peggy Carter?”

Marcy's eyes widened then in understanding.

“Turns out she's her grand niece or something close to that.”

“That's a little weird,” Marcy blurted out. “Uh- I mean, I'm sure she's very nice.”

“No, she is very nice,” Steve replied. “She's beautiful and smart and she certainly knows how to shoot a gun. But you're right, it was weird. And maybe it's my own paranoia, but I couldn't help but think SHIELD was trying to set us up. What? Since Peggy and I...” He paused and sighed. “So I'm supposed to date her relatives now? I'm supposed to transpose my feelings to another person because they share the same genes? How is that fair to either of us?”

“It's not,” Marcy said quietly. “I'm sorry that happened to you. SHIELD can be way more nosy than they need to be sometimes. Just remember, you don't have to date or love anyone you don't want to. You don't even have to go looking. You can do anything you want in your own time and no one has the right to push you faster than you're ready.”

Steve looked over at her and the side of his mouth ticked up. “Thanks. No one's really said that to me before. It's been nothing but pushing since I woke up here.”

By then, Marcy's mouth was stuffed with fries and she covered her mouth before politely mumbling a “no problem”.

Steve watched her as she tried to swallow her mouth full of food. She was so easy to talk to. He still couldn't believe he told her about all that. “Sorry, I'm unloading on you. I just don't really have a lot of people to talk to about this stuff.”

“Not at all. I don't mind being a sounding board and I'm quite good at keeping secrets.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “I'm a spy, you know.”

She was rewarded with Steve's smile.

“So what about you, Agent Gray? Please tell me you have better luck at this than I do.”

She huffed loudly. “I wish. The last guy I asked out was a horrific disaster.”

“Wait, you asked him?”

“My mistake entirely, believe me.”

Steve paused. “Do you... want to tell me about it?”

Marcy's smile disappeared and she pulled away. “I'd rather not.”

Steve was surprised how much that hurt his feelings and he began to gather up his empty food wrappers. “No, that's fine. After all, the whole of SHIELD knows all my personal business, but of course I shouldn't expect the same consideration from anyone else.”

He got up to leave.

“He hated me,” Marcy called after him, causing Steve to freeze in his tracks. “He laughed in my face when I asked him. He told all my co-workers how pathetic I was. It was mortifying.”

With brows drawn, Steve slowly turned around and sat back down.

“You're aware what I do at SHIELD central, right?” Marcy asked.

Steve shook his head, realizing for the first time he knew nothing about this woman.

“I was transferred to the main building after the whole Hydra thing to help sniff out any remaining moles. Fury has always been suspicious of enemy eyes and ears in the organization. I go from one station to the other making sure our agents are legit.”

“So you...”

“I'm a nark, yes. I am the interior spy. I know what everyone does, what their favorite hobbies are, who's wife is cheating on them and who is cheating on their wives.”

“And you tell all this to Fury.”

Marcy frowned. “I tell none of it to Fury. That's none of his business. I only tell him when I see an agent that needs further investigation. It's unfortunate that we need people like me, but in light of the Hydra fiasco, I am necessary.”

That was why Fury always wanted her to be practically invisible while at work.

“Let me guess, this guy you liked found out what you do,” Steve surmised.

“And he told all my coworkers. Everyone hated me after that. And this guy, he would throw my affection for him in my face any chance he got. It was so bad I had to be transferred. Several people at HQ still know what I do so I try to not be noticed if I can.”

Steve reflexively clenched his fists, suddenly feeling protective of her. “I don't suppose he works in the main building.”

“He doesn't work anywhere,” Marcy said quietly. “He died on a mission almost a year ago.”

“Oh.” Steve wasn't sure he should say he was sorry for that.

“I was with a group sent to pull his team out. I was there when he died.” Her voice fell lower in volume. “I did try to save him, but he passed before I could get him out. I had to leave his body behind.” She then sucked in air and shook herself of her melancholy. “Turns out he most likely was a sleeper agent of Hydra to begin with, which is why he had such a massive problem with me. Still... I guess we'll never know for sure.”

She forced a smile to her face and shrugged. Steve couldn't believe she still felt sad about a man who not only treated her so horribly, but was the enemy. This man could have killed her without a second thought and she still clearly felt bad about his death and leaving his body behind.

“I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been a jerk about making you tell me this.”

“No, it's fine,” she sighed. “It's over with and I've learned my lesson: I am very, _very_ bad at deciphering other people's feelings about me. So I'm just not going to guess anymore.”

Steve looked her in the face. “I hope this one incident doesn't stop you from telling people your true feelings.”

Marcy shook her head with a rueful laugh. Tell her true feelings, he said. No, she was not going to tell Steve Rogers, Captain America, that she had a dorky high school crush on him, just like practically every other woman at work. No, she didn't want to be another person trying to force something on him when he clearly wasn't ready. He wasn't looking for a lover, but it was clear he wanted a friend.

“Well, we'll see if anything else ever comes up,” she said with humor. “Until then, I'll be happy to be your pity save again if it gets me free food.”

He laughed right out at that. “Sounds like a plan.”

* * *

 

 

With the more somber tone of their past conversation, Steve thought it best to let Marcy decide the next move. If it appeared she wished to go home, he would be happy to take her. But the brunette woman kept staring at the water front so he suggested they take a walk and check out the collection of shops in the area.

They didn't get too far when Marcy gasped at the small nickle arcade sign illuminated in electric neon. She immediately dragged Steve in, looking for a particular machine. They stopped before a very large apparatus where two teenage boys were dancing on large metal pads, trying to place their foot in the corresponding arrow as they scrolled across the screen.

“Just one quick game,” Marcy promised. “I have to play Dance Dance whenever I see it. Just indulge me.”

Steve made no argument and gallantly motioned to the machine as the boys finished their turn and stepped off. Marcy excitedly jumped on, digging into her pocket for change. She then looked at Steve.

“Do you want to try it with me?”

The soldier immediately raised his palms in surrender. “I don't even know how to dance regularly, let alone on that thing.”

“This isn't dancing. You just stand on the arrows that the screen tells you. Come on, I'll set it on an easy level for you.”

Steve eventually acquiesced and stepped onto the second metal pad. He stood patiently as Marcy fiddled with all the settings for him and picked the song. As the music began, he was instantly aware Marcy had far more arrows on her screen than he did. Her legs were a blur while Steve had trouble catching the beat in the loud arcade.

On the second song, Marcy was winded so she picked an easier level for herself so she could keep an eye on Steve and help him get the beat. By the third song, Steve still stumbled, so Marcy took it on herself to try to play both pads at the same time, despite Steve's protests that he could do it himself.

Both were playfully pushing each other off their arrows when the machine announced they lost that round. The two stepped off the machine laughing and Steve found himself wondering when was the last time he laughed so hard.

As they stepped out of the arcade, Steve looked down at his companion. “Agent Gray, did you take me there just so you could show off to me?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Yes, Steve, I wanted to show off how much of a dork I am by getting an average score on an outdated children's game.” She suddenly caught herself. “Sorry, I meant Captain Rogers.”

“Steve's fine, if you're comfortable with it.”

“I'll keep that in mind. But I'll probably still refer to you by Captain at work.”

“It would have to be 'Captain.' I have been told there is already another Mr. Rogers who is 'far more famous and beloved than I am.' Clint's words, not mine.”

She burst out a chuckle. “That would be true.”

“And I'll still refer to you as Agent Gray?”

She smirked. “Fine. You may call me Marcy if you must. But only when my coworkers aren't around. I don't want them thinking we're friends.”

Steve couldn't help it, he laughed again.

* * *

 

 

Try as he might to avoid her, Steve was caught by Jillian the next day. She managed to corner him right off the elevator, blocking his way down the hall.

“How was your date last night, Captain?” she pressed with more than just a casual tone.

Date? Oh, right. The pity save from the day before. Could he call that a date? He had taken her back to her car shortly after the arcade and they had said friendly good-byes. It wasn't exactly romantic, but it had been fun.

“Very nice, thanks for asking,” he nodded, trying to be on his way.

He caught a sharp look of jealousy from her as he left.

“I don't know what you see in her,” she called after him. “That girl doesn't talk to anyone, she doesn't go anywhere. She's so boring.”

Steve paused and turned to look at the purple-haired woman. Boring. Marcy Gray was anything but. She knew more secrets than Steve had ever kept and had the integrity to keep most of them to herself. She calmly faced danger when no one had her back and drove like she invented the laws of physics herself.

Jillian may have fancied herself a strong, independent woman, confident enough to wear any color of hair she wished. Working in SHIELD's statistics division, she was probably also a math genius. But she also worked a desk. Jillian would never see an actual mission. Moreover, she would never have a DNR in her file. She would never know what it was like to go into a dangerous situation alone, knowing she only had herself to rely on to get out.

And yet, Marcy Gray, the agent that extracted others when no one would extract her, still laughed without restraint and hoped for the future, and found time to be silly. And was a vision when standing in the rain.

Steve looked Jillian in the eyes and shrugged. “Maybe I like boring.”

He turned from her incredulous face and walked off. Secretly, Steve was left wondering about himself. Did he just admit that he liked... her? He mulled that question over for a while as he went about his day.

Late that night, he was still loitering around HQ as usual. Most employees went home after work hours. They had families and friends, places that felt like home to go to for some downtime. Steve had none of those things. No place felt safe and familiar; no place felt like home. If he had nowhere else to be, might as well be here: the building that never rested, if he could not rest himself.

As he haunted the hallways, he passed Bruce Banner's lab, a place that also rarely saw its owner sleep. With most of the walls made of glass, it was easy to see Bruce inside. He was not alone. Agent Gray sat herself upon one of the tables, feet on a chair. She, for the first time Steve had ever seen, was dressed in jeans and a regular shirt, her hair down around her shoulders. She was speaking to Bruce in an animated fashion, eyes bright and full of humor as she gestured wildly while Bruce looked terribly amused.

Steve asked himself his earlier question. Did he like Agent Gray? No, he couldn't say that he did. Because he did not know the real Marcy Gray. He had seen a glimpse of her the other day at the pier, and also on the plane from Romania. There was a person in there, hiding behind that veneer of careful professionalism and lack of eye contact. Steve saw a little bit more of her with each interaction.

Bruce must have noticed him standing there. He waved to Steve and gestured an invitation, motioning to the spread of pizza, bread sticks and salad before them. Agent Gray glanced back to see him and he saw that careful mask slide back into the place in his presence. Her animated gestures were gone, but then she smiled and a bit more of her peered out again.

If Steve were honest with himself, he would have to admit he wore a mask, too. Bucky was the last person to see the real Steve Rogers. Captain America was then created to be his facade and he had kept it as a shield, especially after waking up in the modern world. Bruce Banner as well wore his careful mask to assure the other staff members in the building that he was as harmless as could be. They were all pretenders, guardians of their real selves.

No, Steve did not like Marcy Gray's mask, but he could not fault her for wearing one. As he entered the lab and greeted the others, he hoped maybe they could one day grow to be able look at each without the masks between them.

 

 

 


	7. Death and Karaoke

.

 

**Faded**

**Chapter Seven: Death and Karaoke**

 

Steve walked home, sweaty and slightly winded from his early morning run, only to find Clint Barton standing at his doorstep while Natasha was bent over the lock, trying to pick it open.

“Can I help you two?” the soldier asked as he approached.

“You haven't been answering your phone,” Clint accused.

“I was out,” Steve responded flatly.

Natasha straightened and Steve noticed neither were in their SHIELD uniforms, nor were they in street clothes. Both were dressed like they were going to church, wearing all black.

“Get showered and dressed quickly, Rogers,” Natasha said, no apology in her at being caught trying to break into his place. “Do you have something nice to wear?”

“Good morning to you, too,” Steve said as he fished for his keys.

“No time for pleasantries,” Natasha insisted as she followed him inside his apartment.

“Is there ever?” Steve mumbled to himself.

“It's starting soon. We've got to go.”

“And where exactly are we going?” Steve asked, a bit annoyed.

“Funeral.”

“Who's?” Steve asked, suddenly concerned. In his world, it could be anyone's.

“Marcy's mother died,” Clint responded for her.

Steve blinked at them. “Marcy's mother? But we all just saw her about a month ago. She looked fine. She wasn't... killed, was she?”

“The causes were natural, but very sudden,” Clint explained. “And Marcy didn't tell anyone about it. We just caught wind of it from Fury this morning and we're running late.”

“Give me ten minutes,” Steve said.

* * *

 

 

The funeral was held on a grassy hill, the day sunny and warm. Several people were already gathered around. Clint pulled up and the three stepped out just as a nondescript clergyman began his eulogy. The trio traversed among the headstones toward the group of mourners.

Nick Fury, of course, was in attendance. As was Bruce Banner. Tony Stark and his girlfriend-slash-CEO Pepper Potts were spotted as well. Steve quickly noticed among the other faces that there was a running theme of those in attendance.

“Everyone here works for SHIELD,” he whispered to Natasha. “Where's the family?”

“When you're with SHIELD, SHIELD is your family,” she responded in a reverent tone.

They paused on the outskirts of the mourners and looked around.

“I don't see Marcy anywhere,” Steve then said. “Did she come?”

“She's here,” Clint assured him. “She knows how to blend in when she doesn't want to be seen.”

The voice of Agent Gray's mother suddenly popped into Steve's head. _Marcy is one of those girls you don't notice unless you slow down and take the time to look._ Steve closed his eyes and breathed out slowly. He stilled himself and then looked carefully among those gathered. He found her signature hair slipping out of its bun near the coffin. Nick Fury was a few feet to her side, hands clasped in front of him in somber reverance.

“There she is,” he said, nodding in the correct direction.

Clint immediately left him and stood next to Marcy's side. He slid his hand into hers and she squeezed it back tightly. Natasha moved over to stand supportively at her other side.

Steve remained a few paces back. He examined Marcy's profile, trying to gauge her emotional state. The woman's face was dry, but her eyes were wet. Yet, she didn't allow a single tear to spill as she stubbornly listened to the minister. Steve knew that face. He had worn it twice at each of his parents' funerals. Both her parents were gone now, and she was alone, just as he had been. Steve wondered if anyone else in attendance understood her pain as much as he did at that moment.

When the eulogy had finished, Marcy stepped forward. She silently placed a bottle of pink nail polish on top of the coffin before it was lowered to its final resting place. At that time, the other mourners were invited forward to say their last good-byes. Several tossed down flowers or a handful of earth into the grave as a final sendoff.

The ever-elusive Agent Gray disappeared once more before those in attendance had finished.

* * *

 

 

“Pepper, my girl, there has been a wonderful change of plans.”

Pepper paused before the stretch limo, door open and waiting to accept her. “Will these plans keep us long? Our flight leaves for Malibu in twenty minutes.”

Tony sidled up to her, on hand resting on her hip, his face close to hers. “Need I remind you that I own that plane? It will leave when I say it leaves and not a second sooner.”

She smiled at his mouth being so close to hers. “So what exactly is this wonderful change of plans?”

He pulled her a little closer. “I just got a call from Bruce. The gang's going out for dinner before we all split our separate ways.”

“Well, I can't say no to that. Where are we going?”

“You ready for some karaoke?”

Pepper's mouth instantly dropped from surprise. “What?”

* * *

 

 

After a detour to pick up Bruce Banner, the fancy limo parked in front of a tiny hole-in-the-wall karaoke bar. Pepper was hesitant to get out, wondering if they might get mugged on their way in. The last thing she wanted was anything that would upset Dr. Banner.

But they made it inside without incident and Tony strolled up to the front counter as if it were any other fancy restaurant.

“We're here for a reserved party, under Barton.”

The teenage girl with orange dyed hair snapped her gum at him. “Oh yeah, it's the big room in the back. Go all the way down that hall.”

Seeing as they weren't going to be personally escorted anywhere, Tony gave a quick glance back to Pepper before trekking down the hall. They passed several smaller rooms with glass windows and furniture inside. Only two were in use. One held a group of teens while another housed a child's birthday party.

When they reached the room at the very back, they found Clint, Natasha, and Marcy already present. The latter instantly stood when the three came in.

“Oh, Mr. Stark, you didn't have to come. I thought you would want to be heading home by now.”

“One would think,” Pepper quipped.

“Nonsense,” Tony insisted, giving her a quick one-armed hug. “Tonight is about you, my dear. And making asses of ourselves,” he added, nodding to the empty stage. “Alcohol will be involved I assume.”

“If you wish,” Marcy responded, and then turned to Pepper. “Hi, Ms. Potts, I'm Agent Gray. Marcy.”

The women shook hands. “Hi, Pepper, please. I've heard much about your coffee. And also Tony's plans to keep you in his basement as his permanent barista.”

Marcy glanced at Tony, one eyebrow up.

“I'm sure I don't know what she's talking about,” he insisted.

Bruce moved in next, giving Marcy a full hug, rubbing her back. “Hey, it will be okay, alright?” he said softly.

Her eyes watered a bit, but she smiled. “Thanks. And you still give awesome hugs.”

As they all settled in, a young man in an apron came to take their orders and quickly returned with the alcohol Tony insisted they needed in order to get the singing started. He hardly had a single drink in him before insisting he and Dr. Banner sing the first song.

Bruce protested the entire way, but it was nearly impossible to tell Tony Stark no to anything. The two were half way through the worst rendition of Lorde's “Royals” ever when Steve Rogers entered the room. Tony belted out each word from memory while Bruce timidly mumbled along, watching the prompter.

Pepper was laughing so hard from the two men on stage that she could barely manage more than a wave as the soldier passed her by. He stepped over Clint's legs, which were resting on the small table in the middle and sat himself on the other side of Marcy.

“Hey,” she greeted with a smile. “Thanks for coming. I know this is silly, but Clint wanted to. My mom liked to drag us to karaoke every now and then. She insisted that 'people like us' still needed to do normal things once in a while. We thought it was fitting.”

Steve leaned into her, talking into her ear to be heard above the lousy singing. “I don't know any of the songs, but I hope the moral support will be good enough.”

“Always,” she smiled.

The two science bros finished their song. Everyone clapped. Pepper was trying to catch her breath from laughing so hard. Tony didn't seem to mind and appeared rather pleased with himself that he had brought her so much glee. He plopped himself next to her and she leaned bonelessly against him, still chuckling.

“Just so you know,” Marcy said to Steve, “someone's going to make you sing something before the night is through. Be prepared.”

“I don't suppose they have any Jimmy Dorsey on their song list,” Steve lamented.

Marcy suddenly started snapping her fingers as she broke into song:

 

“Stay on the right side, sister

Stay on the right side, sister

Stay on the right side of the road

 

Look out for old man Satan

He's on the wrong side waitin'

Keep on the right side of the road

 

Once you let the devil take your hand

You'll never get to hallelujah land

I see a great day dawnin'

You better heed my warnin'

Stay on the right side of the road.”

 

As she sang the upbeat, catchy tune, Steve's smile just grew wider and wider. He still liked her singing voice.

“You know the Dorsey Brothers Orchestra,” he said in awe.

“I know that one song,” she admitted, holding up a single finger. “That's all I know. My grandma listened to them when I was little, but that's the only one I remember.”

Clint suddenly broke into loud applause, a nearly empty beer cup next to him. It was obvious he intended to get sloshed this night. “Sounds like Marcy wants to go next!” he announced.

She smiled and gave Steve a look that said 'See? Someone's going to make you do it, too.' “Okay, she said. “Let me find a song.”

* * *

 

 

Luke returned from delivering the ordered food from the group in the back karaoke room. He caught Travis, the other waiter as he came back from taking orders from the newest group to arrive.

“Dude, have you seen who's in our back room?”

“Nah,” Travis replied. “I just got here. Who is it?”

“I think Tony Stark is back there,” Luke said in a hushed voice.

“The billionaire?” Travis protested. “Freaking IRON MAN is at our place? No way, you're screwing with me.”

“Seriously, dude, go look,” Luke insisted. “The redhead chick, that's Black Widow and I swear Captain America just came in. I'm not kidding. The friggin' AVENGERS are in our back room getting drunk and singing karaoke.”

* * *

 

 

Truth be told, none of them could sing well. Pepper had the best music sense among them, but the rest were awful. Still, it didn't stop them from having a good time. Songs were sung and large quantities of food were eaten. Equally large quantities of alcohol were also consumed as the singing grew louder and worse.

Two hours into the night, Clint grandly stood, clapping loudly to gain everyone's attention. He was clearly drunk off his ass, fighting to stand without swaying.

“Alright, I invoke the ancient rights of Karaoke. I paid for the room so I get to choose a song and choose who sings it. Marcy, Cap, you're up.”

Marcy instantly stood while Steve looked confused. He hadn't attempted a single song yet that night.

“But I won't know the song,” he insisted.

“Too bad,” Marcy said with a grin. “Clint's right. He paid for the room so we gotta do it. Up.”

She grabbed his wrist, pulling him to the stage.

Steve still looked unsure. “I'm just going to be standing here.”

“Don't be such a stick in the mud, Cap,” Tony called. “Just read the words on the prompter.”

“You'll be fine,” Marcy encouraged. “Clint will just pick the most embarrassing song he can think of, we'll sing it horribly, and then you can sit down.”

Realizing he was now being patronized, Steve decided to man up and be a good sport. “Alright.” He looked at Clint. “Give us your best shot.”

Clint was grinning as he scrolled through the songs. “Oh, I plan to.”

As Steve held his microphone, he was sure Clint would find some frilly love song for them to sing. Why else did he specifically ask for the two of them on stage? But as the music started, it had a fast, cheer-squad type beat. Marcy was already laughing as she recognized the song.

The words appeared on screen and Steve did his best to sing along.

 

_Hey, hey, you, you_

_I don't like your girlfriend_

_No way, no way_

_Think you need a new one_

_Hey, hey, you, you_

_I could be your girlfriend_

 

By the second “girlfriend” Steve had stopped trying to sing the words and gave Clint a look. The archer jabbed a finger at him. “Come on, do it! Don't be a pussy!”

Clint was so drunk right now.

Marcy kept trying to sing by herself because Steve wasn't going to play anymore. Clint got tired of it and promptly climbed the stage, taking the mic away from the soldier. He brought it to his lips and boldly sang the words himself without a care.

 

_She's like, so whatever_

_You could do so much better._

_I think we should get together now._

_And that's what everyone's talking about!_

 

By the time the second verse started, Tony had joined them on the stage. Pepper added herself shortly after. Clint gave a beckoning finger as he sang and Natasha sashayed up to him, joining in the song. Bruce timidly allowed Tony to drag him up as well. Now, Steve was the only one _not_ singing the song until the music hit its bridge and the men suddenly went quiet.

The three women were left to chant the words, cheerleader style.

 

 _In a second you’ll be wrapped around my finger_  
_'Cause I can, 'cause I can do it better_  
 _There’s no other_  
 _So when's it gonna sink in?_  
 _She’s so stupid_  
 _What the hell were you thinking?_

 

The chorus started up again and everyone jumped back in. Except Steve. He just watched and shook his head. These were the people he worked with. This was his life now.

In the middle, Marcy sang with her eyes closed, loving every word. This was better than singing solo. This was better than staying at home by herself mourning her loss. Her mother would have approved. This was fun and hilarious, and she would remember this forever.

She opened her eyes and there was Steve, standing apart from them, watching them with arms folded over his chest. Watching her. Their eyes met and a small smile found its way to his face and she suddenly forgot all the words.

* * *

 

 

Outside the booth, none of them noticed the two teenagers spying on their party through the window. Both boys had their phones up, recording the drunken Avengers singing their hearts out to Avril Lavigne's “Girlfriend”.

“This is so going on Youtube,” Luke said. “No one's going to believe this.”

* * *

 

 

Clint was still singing long after the place was closed. He was so drunk, Bruce and Steve had to help him out into the parking lot. Tony was just as sloshed as the archer was, but was much more respectable about it. He snuggled Pepper while she said her good-byes and then led him off to the waiting limo.

Marcy climbed into the driver's seat of the traditional SHIELD issue black SUV while the others tossed Clint into the back and belted him in. As Bruce and Natasha, both a little tipsy, seated themselves in the back as well, Steve opened the front passenger door.

“Mind if I get a lift with you guys? I took a cab here.”

“Sure, hop in,” Marcy responded.

Clint and Natasha were dropped off first. Steve, once again, helped to get the former up the stairs to their apartment while he loudly sang every love ballad he could think of Natasha's way. Bruce was next to be returned home and then Marcy frowned as she pulled up to Steve's complex.

“Steve Rogers, you lied to me,” she accused. “I don't see your bike anywhere. You didn't take a cab.”

The captain shrugged, caught. “Yeah, I know. I wanted to make sure everyone got home alright.”

“What if your bike gets stolen? I could drive you back.”

“It's fine. I'll go get it in the morning. And if it's not there, I'll just get another one.” SHIELD already paid him with more money and free vehicles than he knew what to do with as it was. “I could have even been your designated driver if you wanted,” he added. “Doesn't seem fair you had to be the sober one tonight.”

“I neither like the taste of beer nor do I enjoy losing control of my faculties,” she replied as she gazed out the window at the city. “Besides, I don't really see the point of getting drunk when you're sad. When you lose someone, it's okay to mourn, to let yourself be in pain. That's how you move on. If you try to cover it up with alcohol, it's just going to fester in there longer.” She looked at Steve with a smile. “Mom would have liked to see us tonight, being silly and happy. She always insisted I make time for fun and the normal things. In our line of work, we need them.”

“She was a wise woman,” Steve agreed. “It was fun tonight. I haven't just hung out with people for a long time. It was nice to feel somewhat normal again.”

Marcy nodded and they fell silent for a moment.

“Do you mind if I ask?” Steve then said. “I was just curious about the nail polish earlier today? I was hoping it came with a good story. Your mother seemed like she was a very interesting lady.”

The agent smiled in sweet nostalgia at the mention of the pink polish she left on the coffin. “It started when I was young, too young to understand what my mom really did for a living. But when she left me at HQ or at Dad's for a mission, I knew she was out doing something dangerous. So she would let me paint her toes every time before she went out into the field. She said it was our secret and it would keep her safe. And she always came back safe when I painted her toes.”

Steve couldn't help but smile at the story. “Ever tried it for yourself?”

She sighed heavily. “Every day.” She gazed out the window, a bit embarrassed to look at the captain. “I'm not as brave as she was, I need the protection more often. I never wear open-toed shoes or anything so it's still our secret. Bright pink is preferred, it has the strongest protection. But any other bright color will do in a pinch.”

“I'm sure it does,” the soldier said softly. Then he felt it was time to tell her what he had been wanting to say all night. It had been too loud and crowded in the karaoke bar to say it to her then. Now was the right time.

“Marcy, I just want to let you know that I understand what you're going through. I had to bury both my parents, too. I know it's not easy. It know it can make you feel very alone very fast when the two people in the world that are always supposed to be there for you aren't anymore.”

Marcy stopped staring out the window to look at him. “What did you do about it?” she asked, a bit of sadness slipping into her voice.

“I did the one thing you just said not to do,” he replied with a rueful smile. “I was too young when my dad died, but when Mom joined him later... I had this friend named Bucky. We knew each other since we were little and he got a hold of some liquor somehow.” Steve smiled at the memory. “To this day, I still don't know how he managed it, but we drank all night. And then I threw up all night and was sick for two days straight.”

Marcy made a sound of laughter out her nose while she tried to keep a straight face. “I'm sorry. But this friend of yours, he was there the entire time, right?”

“I think he may have carried me bridal style up the stairs to my room,” Steve confirmed with a sheepish grin. “Not my proudest moment.”

Marcy chuckled. “Well, it sounds like you didn't do it completely wrong. And it seems as though you had yourself a really good friend.”

There was a poignant pain in his chest at the thought of Bucky. Where was he now? Was his friend still somewhere inside that man called the Winter Soldier? That man who had beaten him, shot him, and saved his life? Steve had tried find him after Project Insight went down, but Bucky's trail went cold far too fast and that ghost of his past was in the wind.

“Yes, I did,” Steve agreed softly.

The two sat in silence again, Marcy patiently waiting to see if Steve would get out of the car or say something else. Steve knew that this was the perfect time. There they were together, alone in the night, each feeling loss, feeling vulnerable and nostalgic. Any man in this position would have leaned over and kissed her now. If Steve had been drunk, his inhibitions stolen, he probably would have.

But he was painfully sober despite the alcohol consumed that night. He knew what he should do, but he didn't do it.

“Well, good night Marcy, thanks for the ride.”

“You're welcome.”

He should have said she could call him. He should have said he would be there if she needed anything. But he said none of those things as he closed the car door. And, as he watched the tail lights drive away, Steve regretted all his lost opportunities.

* * *

 

 

A week later, Marcy received a curiously fat envelope in the mail, addressed personally from a Ms. Virginia Potts. She opened it to find a collection of photos taken during their karaoke escapades. Marcy suddenly recalled seeing Pepper fiddling with her phone several times that night. She had been capturing the moment while the others hadn't suspected a thing.

Marcy flipped through the pictures, smiling at the drunkenness and the laughing caught on film. She paused at the last photo of herself sitting next to Steve Rogers. He had his arm resting along the back of their seat, mere centimeters from touching her. He was leaning in to speak in her ear.

Marcy tried to remember when this happened. Despite being sober, the night was a blur to her. She was drunk on the company around her, letting their noise drown out her heavy heart. Letting the happiness wash away the pain into a blissful numbness. But she could vaguely recall a few times when Steve leaned over to say something to her. He always bent himself into her space to speak instead of trying to raise his voice over the volume of the music.

Out of context, the picture was almost romantic. He had his arm around her and he looked happy to be near her. Marcy couldn't help but stare at the gentle expression on his face before she realized she was grinning like an idiot out by the mailbox. Cheeks burning at her own buffoonery, she retreated inside to do her dopey grin in private.

And write a thank you letter to Ms. Potts.

 

 

 

 


	8. Gods and Muses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: This is one of my favorite chapters. I did not think I would love writing Thor as much as I did. I'm scheming of more ways to sneak him into the story. Tell me what you think. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

 

**Faded:**

**Chapter Eight: Gods and Muses**

 

It was known as the bilgeworm among the Asgardians. They could grow up to 20 feet in length with a weight that would easily crush a man. With as many eyes as it had talon-like appendages to propel its caterpillar-like body forward, it was quite a sight. Feathered hairs as brilliantly colored as a tropical bird adorned its back, but its mouth was all fangs.

As a dimension-hopping creature, little was known about it in Asgard. Its world of origin was a mystery. But every season they migrated to lands unknown, and part of that migration path took them right through Asgard.

Luckily, the trail of their ancestors led them harmlessly through the forests outside the kingdom. Many would gather and watch from a safe distance as the bizarre creatures chewed temporary holes in the very fabric of time and space. It was an awesome spectacle to see them appear and disappear from their world in herds.

The Asgardians also kept a careful eye on them for there would be times when younger worms would lose their way from the path and wander toward the city. Soldiers were always dispatched to stand watch during the migration season, prepared to react should circumstances require action. In such instances, the men would consider themselves fortunate if they could merely herd the confused creatures back to the trail. Unfortunately, there were times when getting the massive animals to cooperate seemed useless and the worms had to be put down to keep the citizens safe. It was dangerous work, for the creatures had a tendency to lash out violently when frightened.

This season seemed to be going quite well. It was reported that all the worms stayed on their path and disappeared into the ether without incident. Then suddenly, there was a worm in the city. No one knew how it had gotten in there, but they knew it needed to be taken out immediately.

Thor himself was at the forefront of the response team. He and several soldiers managed to quickly chase it out of the city limits and the frightened worm hastily chomped itself a wormhole to escape. Once again, the city was safe.

Odin's son thought the task was then complete, until Heimdall said he could see the worm's projected course. Now far off its migratory trail, the confused worm could cut a hole in space to anywhere in existence. It just so happened to chew a gate directly to Earth.

* * *

 

 

Thor thought himself capable of taking out one adolescent bilgeworm by himself, so he went to Earth alone. Now he was regretting that decision. The creature seemed intent on visiting every continent and people on Midgard, chewing worm holes at will. Thor stayed on its tail, jumping through the holes after it, but the animal was so much faster than he expected. It took all his concentration just to keep up.

Crowded cities and unoccupied countrysides alike caught a glimpse of their chase and it was soon worldwide news. But it seemed the creature finally grew tired of running. When it pulled itself into the middle of an amazon rainforest, it decided to take a stand.

Maybe it grew weary of the chase. Or maybe it found a world similar to its own and decided to claim it, Thor could not be sure. All he knew was that he had been running through the crowded, smoggy streets of Beijing and then suddenly he was knee deep in a swift river. Large trees and green exotic plants grew all around. Thor was blindsided by the sudden heat and humidity of the tropics when the worm turned on him, rearing up. It gave a harsh scream as it bared a rictus maw full of needle-sharp fangs.

The creature launched for him like a viper and Thor readied his hammer, slamming the worm in the head and sending it flying back. Blood sprayed as several of the monster's eyes were ruptured. It shook itself from the blow and attacked again, this time with its whole body.

Thor braced himself as the weight of the massive worm barreled into him, knocking the breath from his lungs. It hit with the force of a freight train and both flew further into the river. As they tumbled into the water's depth, Thor's mind panicked for the first time. Suddenly, there wasn't any ground under his feet for leverage. He had the strength and endurance of gods, but he still needed to breathe. This creature could easily drown and kill him.

Desperate for air, Thor kicked off from the worm, swimming for the surface. The heavy cape he shouldered dragged him back, pulling him with the current and it was a battle just to swim toward shore. Finally, his head breached the surface and Thor gasped for breath. He clawed toward shore and solid ground beneath his feet.

His palms and knees barely managed to touch the loose, slippery stones of the riverbed when Thor felt a horrible pain in his calf. Glancing back, the worm had his leg in its mouth, sharp teeth spearing through his flesh. It reared back, hauling him into the air. Thor tried to take another swing of the hammer, but the worm violently shook him back and forth like a terrier with a rat.

Thor was seeing stars, disoriented as the worm slammed him again and again against the blunt river rocks. Pain shot everywhere and with it, a curious numbness that began to sap his will to fight. Perhaps this was it. This was the end of the mighty Thor; out in the middle of nowhere, alone, swallowed by this horrific beast.

Then, there was a light blue glow in the shadows of the dense forest as another portal opened. Both creature and Asgardian noticed it not as the worm prepared to eat its prey. It reared back, head up, intent on swallowing the man whole when blue fire suddenly tore into it. The worm howled as a large chuck of its side was eviscerated. A second shot blew the rest of the body in half and its pieces splattered across the trees and into the river.

Thor fell into the depths of the current, limbs feeling heavy and useless. The pain in his body was swallowed by a heavy blanket of nothingness. He could not will himself to move and he began to drown. His body was caught in the pull of the current, dragging him deeper as the lack of oxygen slowly pulled away his life.

Then, a different pull had a hold of him. He was yanked toward the surface, head breaking free for air.

* * *

 

 

She grunted from the weight of the body as she tugged them both slowly toward land. He was so heavy, plus the drag from that ridiculous cape made it quite a chore just to drag him from the current. Marcy now wondered if maybe she wasn't the right person for the job.

Still, she was the only one there and would be alone for some time until help arrived, so she had to make due with what she had. After finally getting solid rocks under them, she took out her field knife and sawed off that annoying cape. But even without the weight of the soaked material, Thor was a large man, possibly more than twice her weight. It took every ounce of her strength to drag his body into the shallows so she could inspect him.

She first checked his mouth to make sure he was breathing. Bending down, she felt warm air on the side of her face. That was a good sign.

Right then, the Asgardian's eyes opened, taking in her flushed face.

“Great lady,” Thor breathed. “Hath the Valkyries cried my name? Shall I be saved from battle or have you come to return me to my ancestors?”

Though he seemed a bit delirious, the fact that he was talking was also good. Marcy smiled at him. “No going to see your forefathers today. I think you're going to live to see battle again.”

Thor let his head rest in the water, eyelids weakening. “Ah. That is good to know. Though I must say, had you been the one to take me to Valhalla for my final rest, I would gladly go with you. For you, Lady, are most beautiful.”

Marcy stared at him, shocked by the comment. Then, Thor closed his eyes and she jumped into action.

“No! No, no, no. Don't go to sleep on me, big guy.” She lightly slapped his cheeks, trying to waken him. “Don't make me haul you out of the water on my own. I'm not strong enough. Come on, wake up!”

But the thunder god would not be summoned from his rest. Marcy sat back on her heels, already exhausted. She gazed around at the wild forest surrounding her on all sides. Unfamiliar animal noises sounded from the thick foliage. It was possible this place had never even seen a human before. Until SHIELD's backup arrived, she was on her own.

* * *

 

 

“We've got maybe four more hours until touchdown,” Clint reported. He just returned from the pilot's cabin and took a seat next to Steve. Currently they were in SHIELD's fastest jet, racing toward the middle of South America.

“That is _if_ they're still there by the time we arrive,” Steve countered. “Thor and that... thing have somehow been appearing all over the globe. What if they've moved on by the time we get there?”

“Not this time, Cap. Marcy's on scene already. She's reported that the creature has been neutralized. Thor isn't in the best shape, but will most likely be fine. They're just waiting for us to pick them up.”

“Agent Gray's already there? How did she get there so fast?”

The jet hit a patch of hard turbulence and the two braced themselves through the rough ride.

“SHIELD's been working on a new toy,” Clint explained. “They developed it through technology gleaned from the Tesseract. It's a portal. It was designed so SHEILD could send agents anywhere in the world at the drop of a hat. Unfortunately, all they can make it do right now is ship a maximum of one agent anywhere in the world every twelve hours.”

“And why Agent Gray?” Steve protested. “Why not one of us? Asgardian monsters seem a bit above her pay grade, don't you think?”

Another hard hit of turbulence nearly knocked them from their seats. Clint decided he best just belt himself in for now.

“You and I were already in the air heading for Russia when they got the thing working.” Russia had been the initial point of entry for the worm. SHIELD had already responded with agents before Thor and the creature suddenly disappeared and reappeared on a completely different continent. “They sent Marcy out to get eyes on the situation and maybe predict where they were going next. She wasn't supposed to engage if she couldn't handle things. But they did send her out with some impressive firepower just in case.”

“So she managed to get the situation under control without our help,” Steve said.

Clint grinned at him. “My girl never lets me down.”

Steve took note of the pride beaming from the agent.

“You and Agent Gray, you two weren't ever... together were you?”

Clint was already waving him off before he had finished the question. “No, it wasn't like that.”

“Not ever?” Steve pressed. Clint had responded suspiciously fast. “Two people working together in that capacity, you get real close with each other.”

There was a hint of guilt there as Clint furrowed his brows, trying to decide if he should admit something or not. Steve's interrogative stare eventually pulled it out of him.

“Yeah, we had been field partners for nearly two years. We got close... She told me she... cared about me in a way I couldn't return.” Clint sighed. “It made me feel like scum, listening to her spilling her guts out to me and knowing she wasn't the one. When I met Natasha, I suddenly knew what it was like to find a piece of me that I never knew had been missing.”

The archer smiled as he recalled a time long past. “I was supposed to kill Tasha, did you know? I was sent to get rid of her before she axed some government officials we were trying to protect. But when I saw her up there on that roof, weapon drawn, something made sense. She was beautiful and dangerous, and strong and broken. Broken in all the same places as me, strong in all the places I wasn't. So I offered her a place with SHEILD, with me. Marcy and I were good partners. We knew each others' quirks, we had fun. But with Natasha, we just _worked_. In every single way.”

Steve smirked at him. They were supposed to be talking about Marcy, but all Clint wanted to do was steer the conversation to his love. “Careful, you're nearly waxing poetic.”

Clint smirked back. “Women will do that do you.”

“So, Natasha is the reason why you and Agent Gray no longer work together,” Steve surmised.

Clint just shook his head. “No, Natasha and I weren't partnered until later. The partnership between Marcy and I was dissolved because I went against the DNR order. We were in deep and I lost contact with Marcy. So I went in after her.

“There had been missions before when I lost her and had to wait for her to make it out on her own. I always followed orders. But that night when I told Marcy I didn't feel the same, she just smiled at me and said it was okay. She said it wasn't my fault and she didn't want anything from me.”

Steve remained quiet as Clint ran a hand through his hair. “To have someone care about you like that and not want anything in return; it was humbling and I couldn't just leave her anymore. I didn't love her like she loved me but she was, still is, precious to me. When she went MIA, I went in after her and pulled her out. SHIELD knew if I did it once I'd do it again so I wasn't allowed to go in the field with my partner anymore, not even to watch her back.” His expression turned bitter. “It's bullshit.”

“Why won't they let agents help her?” Steve asked. “I don't understand why that is.”

Clint breathed loud, dispelling some of his frustration with the action. “They have their reasons. I may not like it, but there is a reason.”

“And that is?”

Clint didn't answer.

“Classified?” Steve asked with a sigh.

“That,” Clint confirmed. “And I'm not so good at explaining it. There's a lot more to it than you think. But I'll tell you what, let's get our people to safety and then give me some time. I'll see what I can do to get you in the loop. How's that?”

“Deal,” Steve said, holding out his hand.

Clint looked at the offered hand, but didn't take it. “You really care about Marcy so much that you want to know?”

Steve pulled back and huffed self-consciously. “I just want to be informed so I can keep people safe.”

“So you don't care about her then.”

“I didn't say that,” Steve defended. “Can we just drop it and focus on the mission right now?”

Clint gave him an amused expression that made Steve frown and flush at the same time. “Anything you say, Captain.”

* * *

 

 

Darkness descended quickly in the rainforest. The trees blocked out the fading light long before the sun had fully retreated for the day. Marcy tended a small fire that crackled weakly. Everything was so wet out here it was difficult to find anything that would burn properly. It wasn't really cold enough to need a fire, but the source of light was welcome and Marcy hoped it would help keep the creepy crawlies away, not to mention any larger animals. She had already dealt with one massive predator that day. She wasn't in the mood for another.

Once satisfied the fire would not die any time soon, she turned her attention to the unconscious man next to her. Marcy swore she had pulled every muscle in her body dragging his weight to dry land. Even an hour later, she was still exhausted and her body ached. But there was work to be done.

Thor's leg was littered in angry teeth marks. She had done her best to clean and dress the wound with her tiny first aid kit, but the punctures were swelling. He needed to get to a sterile hospital room soon to avoid infection.

Both of them were also still in their soaked clothes. It wasn't cold enough in the sweltering jungle to worry about hypothermia, but wearing wet clothes for too long caused its own problems. She hoped help would arrive soon. It was making her skin scrawl, knowing there could be a few leeches attached to her from her river dunk. The buzzing mosquitoes were even worse.

Thor stirred with a moan and Marcy leaned back in case his journey into consciousness was a violent one. Even wounded, just one careless punch from him could seriously hurt her, maybe even kill her. But all the Asgardian did was flutter his lids and then try to sit up.

“Careful,” Marcy said gently. “You're hurt.”

“The worm,” Thor urged. “Where is it?”

“It's dead. You're safe.”

Thor tried to move, but his limbs still felt strangely numb, his head swam pleasantly. As he gazed around him, the tropical forest radiated a rainbow of pulsating colors despite the darkness of night. His gaze circled around to Marcy, who watched him with wide, worried eyes. He smiled at her.

“I have been sent an angel to guard over me,” he murmured with a dreamy gaze. “What great deed have I done to deserve such treatment, for she is radiant and fair indeed.”

Marcy reached out to feel his forehead and neck. “You've got a fever. That monster maybe even pumped you full of toxins when it bit you.”

Thor took her hand, holding it to his chest as if it were something precious. The chatter of the rainforest bugs sounded to him as seraphim singing praises to the holy goddess before him. “My lady, whatever you have wish of me, Thor is at your service. Great armies would kneel at your feet for your favor.”

He reached out to brush his fingers at the wet tendrils of hair hanging in her face. She was soaked to the bone. Her unruly hair fell completely free from its usual messy bun and hung in heavy clumps about her face and shoulders. She was sure she looked a mess.

“Oh man,” Marcy whispered. “You are so out of it.”

Thor heard this not. All he saw was the heavens opening up above him to further glorify such an angelic creature with their radiant light.

Marcy also gazed up at said light, noting the SHIELD jet hovering over them. A rope ladder dropped from the belly, Hawkeye climbing down first, followed by a group of other bodies. They were nothing but faceless silhouettes with that light shining in her eyes. Marcy stood to greet them.

“Are you okay?” Clint asked. He took her by the arms and then immediately pulled back. “You are soaking wet.”

“Tell me about it,” she confirmed. “I'll be fine as soon as I get a dry change of clothes.”

There was a groan to their side as the other agents checked on Thor.

“Him, however, I don't know,” she added. “He took a pretty good pounding. Been off in coo-coo land since he came to.”

As the agents swarmed the place, soon the night was filled with excited noises as pieces of what remained of the creature were discovered. Someone radioed in for a clean up crew. As the medical staff were bringing in a stretcher, Marcy knelt next to Thor, holding his head up.

“Hey, pay attention.” She lightly slapped his cheeks to keep him in the here and now. “We're going to strap you in and lift you up to the jet, okay?”

“Will you be joining me, fair lady?” the god asked dreamily.

“Yes, everyone is going on the jet.” Marcy could hear Clint snort behind her at Thor's question. “Can you call your hammer so we can take it with us?”

With some difficulty, Thor raised his hand and Mjölnir flew out of the river a moment later. It splashed a few startled agents before landing in Thor's grip. He offered it to her. “Here, you may have it, my lady, if that is your wish.”

Marcy immediately held up her hands. “No, no, you hold onto it, okay?”

“But anything I have is yours, you have but to ask.” He offered her the hammer again. “Take it.”

Marcy barked out an awkward laugh at the situation, looking to Clint helplessly, and then back down at Thor. “No, I can't lift it--”

“Sure you can, a goddess such as yourself--”

She wrapped his fingers tightly around the handle and had him rest the hammer on his own chest. “I need you to hold it for me, will you?”

“Yes, of course, if that is your wish.”

“Good.” The medical team was ready to heft the large man onto the stretcher. “Now, I want you to let my... goddess... helpers strap you to this nice piece of plastic and we'll put you in the jet. You just keep that hammer safe for me, okay?”

Thor just continued to smile that goofy, drugged-up smile. “Anything for you.”

Marcy stood back as the medics finagled Thor's body onto the portable stretcher and hefted him over to the hovering jet.

Clint sidled up to his former partner, grinning. “Someone's got a crush on you.”

She barked out another laugh, though her face looked terribly concerned. “He's either high, or he is dying and this is his brain shutting down. God, I hope he's not dying.”

“I'm sure he'll be fine,” said a new voice, making her jump.

“Oh, Steve—Captain Rogers. I didn't realize you were here, too.”

“Not when a god is practically serenading you, huh?” Clint said with a suggestive elbow. “That's a step up from captain, I'm sure.”

In the artificial search light of the jet, her cheeks went pink. “You are a jerk! I just exploded a giant magic monster and dragged the world's heaviest man further than I thought I would ever have to drag a body.” Even Steve was laughing now. “Why must you be this way?”

Clint hugged her tight, despite her dampness. “That's how you know I care.”

Marcy laughed into his shoulder. She was glad he was here.

* * *

 

 

Once inside the jet, Thor fell back into unconsciousness as they took off toward New York. His body was strapped in the back where a medic was checking his wounds while most of the others sat up front nearer to the pilot.

Marcy shivered in her wet clothes against the jet's air conditioning system. She itched to take them off. She was starting to smell like a swamp. “I would kill everyone in here for a hot shower right now.”

“Even me?” Clint asked as he dug around in a duffel bag.

“You first, smart guy.”

He pulled out a large olive-colored T-shirt. “Here, it's not much, but it will get you out of those wet clothes.”

“I am not feeling picky right now,” Marcy said thankfully. She pulled the T-shirt over her head before unzipping the front of her dark blue uniform.

Steve, who was sitting next to them, politely glanced away as Marcy peeled off the suit to her waist.

“Clint, can you check my back for leeches? I feel like I'm covered with them.” Marcy said.

Steve glanced over to the sight of Clint leaning over the woman's bare back. The soldier could see the lines of her black bra straps around the shoulders and rib cage. The pale skin of her sides in contrast to the light touches of the archer's darker hands as he checked her for parasites. The hands touching skin mesmerized him until he remembered his manners and he guiltily looked away.

Once satisfied the top half was clear, Marcy kicked off her soaked boots and socks before stripping off the pants. The change offered flashes of her underwear and Steve caught a SHIELD agent overtly staring at the woman. Captain America shot him such a dark look that the agent's eyes remained fixated on his boots for the rest of the way home.

Though Steve felt guilty to admit he had stolen a few glances himself as Marcy inspected the skin on her legs. Then she sat herself down, pulling her knees up into the large t-shirt until the material swallowed her. Only her toes stuck out and Steve noticed with amusement that they were indeed painted pink.

Once she was settled, Clint put an arm around her, rubbing her arm which was also tucked inside the large shirt. Marcy leaned against his side, her cheek on his shoulder as she shivered and closed her eyes. Steve gave them a side glance, slightly jealous, until Clint emphatically cleared his throat. Steve glanced over and Clint jerked his head in a motion for him to move closer. The captain glanced down at Marcy, then back up at Clint. Then he slid himself over until his hips touched hers.

Her eyes immediately popped open at the contact and her face flushed in surprise. She seemed to forget rather quick that Steve was around any time Clint gave her attention. Steve wondered if she still had feelings for the archer.

Under his gaze, Marcy sat up a little straighter, still flushed. She glanced at him while Steve kept his hands on his knees, showing he had no other intent on touching her other than sharing a bit of body warmth.

“Still cold?” he asked. “I'm sorry, I'd give you a jacket if I had one.”

“I'm fine,” she quickly said, straightening even more with a professional tone. “I've been much colder than this for a lot longer.”

“Yeah, me too.”

She got the joke a second before Clint did and both of them snorted.

“Oh, Cap's funny today. There's a first.” Clint said.

“Yes, don't complain about the cold around Captain Rogers, I get it,” Marcy laughed.

Steve just looked down and smiled, clearly pleased with himself at his own joke. Marcy carefully settled against him a bit more, feeling his body heat pressed to her side. She was ready to pull away if it looked like he didn't want her so close, but he didn't seem to mind that their bodies were touching. He even glanced at her with a smile and then glanced away again. Marcy melted for him right there and it was suddenly much warmer in the jet.

* * *

 

 

Thor awoke to a room bathed in white and his first thought was that the divine being of his fevered dreams had taken him with her to her ivory castle in the clouds. Then came the sterile, chemical smell that wrinkled his nose and the SHIELD medical personnel bearing the familiar bird-like symbol on their uniforms.

“Hey there, buddy, welcome back. That was a hell of a sleep. It's been two days.” Tony Stark said as he thrust his face into Thor's line of vision. “Heard you tangled with a giant rainbow snake or something.”

“Bilgeworm, yes,” Thor corrected distractedly as he gazed around the room, trying to pull himself into a sitting position. “I admit, my recollection is a bit cloudy at the moment.”

“Not surprising, considering you were bitten,” Bruce Banner said from his seat next to Tony. “Apparently, the creature's saliva carries a type of toxin which holds properties similar to diazepam. It seems the bite causes the prey to become relaxed and disoriented. Like a super powered Valium.”

“I've tried something like that,” Tony cut in. “Very nice. I'm sure you had a splendid evening off in fairy land as you were being rescued.”

Thor looked around the room again, feeling something was missing.

“Your hammer's on the floor by the bed,” Bruce guessed, trying to be helpful. “I'm pretty sure no one's going to take it.”

That did not seem to satisfy the Asgardian. “I was rescued by a woman. She was most beautiful. Tell me, is she among your ilk, Man of Iron?”

Bruce and Tony looked at each other.

“Are you talking about Agent Gray?” Tony blurted dubiously. He never thought of the woman as beautiful, let alone _most_ beautiful. She wasn't even close to the most beautiful woman who worked in the building.

“If she was the one at my side,” Thor confirmed pragmatically. “I'm sure you count yourselves blessed to have her presence in this place. A finer creature mine eyes have never beheld.”

Bruce shrugged. “I like her just fine,” he offered.

Tony leaned in. “You like her now, wait until you try her coffee.”

* * *

 

 

Thor more or less excused himself from bed rest, though the attending physicians agreed he was healthy enough to walk around. The bite on his leg was healing so nicely that he had hardly a limp as he strolled down the halls of SHIELD HQ looking for his savior. The two science Avengers followed curiously behind.

They reached the floor Marcy was usually seen on and Tony instantly noticed said agent among the other bodies occupying the space. She hadn't noticed them, flipping through a few files in her hands. She was dressed differently than she had been before, now in black work slacks and a blue button up shirt. Her hair had been pulled back into its usual bun, but unruly tendrils were already falling out, as was normal.

“There she is, right up there,” Tony pointed out and sat back to watch the show.

Thor stepped forward with purpose in his stride. He heeded not the other agents who paused in his wake. Up ahead, Marcy glanced up, finally noticing Thor's approach. She smiled as the taller man grew closer, but then he stopped short, standing before a different agent. This one had similar brown hair, but she wore it loose around her shoulders. The agent had a curvy figure, high cheek bones and full lips, and she gaped with wide eyes as Thor reached for her hand and kissed it.

“My lady,” the prince said in a deep voice.

The agent's knees instantly turned to rubber. Her face flushed and she let out a flattered laugh.

“Um, Thor?” Bruce cut in gently. “That's... not Agent Gray.”

“What?” Thor finally peeled his eyes off the attractive woman. “This is not the one who came to my aid?”

“Nope,” Tony said. “Missed it by thiiiis much.” He held his thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “The one you're looking for is right--” He turned to the place Marcy had been standing, only to find it empty. He glanced around the area for her. “Son of a bitch, where did she go?”

* * *

 

 

Steve Rogers walked the grass toward the parking lot, intent on going out for lunch when he heard a hearty voice call his name.

“Good Captain! I have spied you!”

Steve turned to see Thor walking to him, a hand raised in salutations. He was wearing the civilian clothes SHIELD had supplied to him. The jeans and T-shirt made the man almost look like he belonged in that realm.

Steve nodded in greeting. “Thor. I'm glad you're up. You look well.”

“Indeed, my friend. I feel in high spirits. Though I am on a bit of a quest at the moment.”

“And what kind of quest is that?”

“You were there at my rescue, Captain, I do remember that.”

“I was.”

“The woman who was there, who pulled me from the river, I assume you know of her.”

Steve suddenly felt a bit defensive, crossing his arms over his chest, though he wasn't sure why.

“Agent Gray.”

“Yes, I fear I may have inadvertently hurt her feelings this morning.”

“Why didn't you apologize to her right then?”

Thor sighed. “Alas, she flees like the wind, I had not the time. They tell me she is a maiden who will not be found if she does not wish it.”

Steve sighed. “Yeah, they tell me that, too.”

Thor breathed out deep, blue eyes gazing over the cityscape. “I must admit, Captain, I have become enamored with her. ”

“What?” Steve asked flatly.

“If I were not trying to work things out with Jane, I would consider courting her. She is a fine woman. Those of her ilk are a warrior's muse. They turn good men into great heroes and inspire poetry among the hardest of hearts.”

“Agent Gray does,” Steve said dubiously.

Thor snapped his gaze to the other man. “What? You think not, Captain? You find my accolations misguided? You think not highly of her?”

“No, that's not it at all. It's just... you were very out of it when we found you. You had poison in your system. You were hallucinating. I think what you thought you saw and what was really there are two different things.”

Thor frowned at him. “You disappoint me, Captain. You see with your eyes, not the heart.” He lightly tapped Steve on the chest. “You see but one standard and judge accordingly by sight alone. But you see not courage nor grace, nor the divinity that comes from a woman's heart. I pity you.” The prince turned from the befuddled captain. “Well, I must continue my search. The thrill is in the hunt after all, and I would like to find her before I must return to Asgard. But if I cannot, may I count on you to relay my affections for me, Captain?”

He didn't want to. Steve did not want any of this man's affections anywhere near Marcy.

“Fine,” he sighed.

* * *

 

 

There was a crackle of energy in the air as storm clouds gathered. Thor felt the call from Asgard as he stood atop the SHIELD central rooftop, hammer in hand. Director Fury had learned that Thor had been wandering HQ, distracting the staff (especially the female employees) all afternoon. As such, he demanded that if Thor was just going to be a nuisance, he may want to greatly consider getting his ass back home where it belonged. Thor regrettably admitted that he could not stay much longer. Tony, Bruce and Steve where there to see him off.

“Friends,” Thor nodded to the three men, “I thank you for your assistance. It was a pleasure to see you once again.”

“No problem, Big Guy,” Tony spoke, though he didn't actually do anything to help. “Just make sure you keep the exotic pets at home next time.”

Thor laughed. “Ha! Yes, indeed! I will consider that.” He then suddenly paused and looked past them at the image a few yards back. There stood the woman who saved him, arms crossed self-consciously over herself. She lurked hesitantly by the roof exit, stray tendrils from her messy bun fluttering in the breeze.

The large man brushed past his friends, approaching so fast Marcy looked a bit worried. But Thor stopped short of getting into her personal space.

“My Lady.” He dropped to one knee as he took her hand, pressing it to his forehead. “I, Thor, son of Odin, do pledge on my honor to thee. Should you ever be in need of my assistance, I shall come.”

Marcy wanted to take her hand back, but she wasn't sure if she dared. “Um... that's not necessary,” she said in a weak voice.

Thor raised his head, his ice blue eyes meeting her dark brown ones. “You think yourself unworthy of this covenant.” He stood, her hand still in his. His height loomed over her, chest so close to her as he brushed his thumb against the back of her hand. “If you were on Asgard, you would be treated as a proper muse. There you would have inspired greatness among my legions as the men here seem to be blinded as to the type of creature you really are.”

Marcy made a very unladylike snort at that statement. “I did not do as much as you thought I did. You were really out of it.”

“Truly?” he asked, not quite convinced. “Did you not vanquish the bligeworm?”

“Yes, but I had a gun--”

“And did you not save my life, pulling me from the river when I would have surely drowned?”

“Yes, and granted, you were quite heavy. But any agent who had been there would have done the same. I didn't do anything that special.”

Thor just smiled at her, a smile that would melt any woman in her place. He was clearly amused and enchanted with having an actual conversation with her. Self-conscious, Marcy looked down, face flush. She tugged her hand back, but the Asgardian wasn't willing to relinquish it just yet.

Thor's brow became concerned and he reached with his free hand to lift her chin, urging her to meet his gaze once more. “I understand now. You have been wounded in this world, My Lady. They do not see your brilliance because you do not see it either.” Despite himself, he leaned in closer, breath brushing the skin of her face. “Maybe I shall take you with me, fair one, so that I may cultivate that radiant goddess inside you.”

With each word, his face moved closer to hers, his voice now hot at her mouth as their lips almost touched. Marcy raised both hands, pressing one palm over the other on his mouth to prevent him from going further.

Thor blinked at her, holding her in his arms, surprised that any woman would not be thrilled with his affections.

“Ahem!” Steve cleared his throat loudly, suddenly appearing a few inches from the couple.

Thor's hold on her loosened and Marcy used this opportunity to gain some distance. She slipped out of his hold and instinctively moved to Steve's side. Steve allowed this and took a step forward to further keep her from the Asgardian.

Thor raised an understanding brow to the frowning soldier. “Ah, it has become clear to me now. I underestimated your perceptions, Captain.” He heartily clapped Steve on the arm. “Take care of each other, then. Cherish her.”

Marcy instantly protested on his behalf. “Oh, he's not--”

Steve's arm landed possessively around her shoulders. “I will,” he vowed.

Her eyes instantly widened, mouth dropping open. Oh, he did not just...

Thor looked away from them to Tony and Bruce, raising a hand. “You take care as well, my friends. Farewell for now.”

Before any other words could be spoken, a bolt of lightning crashed on the rooftop. Steve tucked Marcy into his chest to shield her as the blinding energy crackled around them. They felt the air be violently sucked up around them as the form of Thor took off like a rocket into the sky. Then, all was normal once more and he was gone.

“Damn, now that is an exit,” Tony said enviously, hands on hips. He then glanced to the side. “Are you two done holding each other now?” He gestured to both of them. “Is this a thing now? I didn't know.”

Steve was about to offer a fumbling explanation when Marcy suddenly remembered her irritation at his answer to Thor.

“Captain Rogers, did you just _pity save_ me?”

Steve's response to Tony was forgotten as his mouth suddenly split into a goofy grin. He immediately dashed to the roof exit and was gone with Agent Gray calling after him. “There's no pity saves in SHEILD. Hey! Rogers!” She disappeared down the stairs after him.

“Oh, yeah,” Tony confirmed with a smirk. “There is totally a thing going on.”

 

 

 

 


	9. Me Party

**Coffee Girl:**

**Chapter Nine: Me Party**

 

Clint and Natasha were both gone. Prague had them and would not be returning them any time soon. Marcy had hoped they would be back by tonight as scheduled, but missions never did go according to plan. That's why agents were always taught to adapt to situations as they changed. She sighed as she closed the computer file stating the two agents were still out in the field. Time for her to adapt to the situation as well. What was she supposed to do with all that food she bought? Quickly, her mind came up with a secondary plan of action. Time to be brave.

Stepping out of her office, she traveled down to a lower level of the building to the gym. Several agents were using the facilities for their regular workouts. A small group had collected on the mats in the corner for a few good-natured sparing matches to keep their skills sharp.

Marcy found Steve Rogers on one of the running machines, going at nearly full speed. Normally, Steve enjoyed a good run outside. But with temperatures that day predicted to hit 100, it was just too hot and miserable for an outdoor run at this time of day.

Steve saw her coming, but didn't slow his pace. “Agent Gray,” he huffed in greeting.

“Hey,” she returned, her attention on his speed. How long could he just race like that? The man was ridiculous!

“Anything I can help you with?” Steve pressed.

“Uh, yeah...” She suddenly felt her face go warm, her heart pick up. She took a deep breath. “I thought I'd check... maybe ask if-- you know, I wasn't really sure....” _You sound like an idiot, Marcy, just say it!_ “I was curious if you had any plans for tonight? For the Fourth?”

Steve smiled through his heavy breaths. He had answered this question several times already this week. Some were invitations from women wondering if he wanted a date. Most were from fellow co-workers, including Fury himself, making sure he wasn't spending the Fourth of July alone. Everyone knew he didn't have any family to go to for festivities and he appreciated the thought. But Steve already had the situation covered.

“Don't worry about me,” he panted. “Going to a friend's house for a barbecue. I'm all taken care of.”

Marcy's mouth hung open for a bit, not expecting that response. Disappointment sat heavy on her heart. Then she instantly recovered. “Oh, okay. I'm glad.” She forced a smile to her face. “I hope you have fun.”

Steve just nodded as he continued to run. By now, his response to that question was automatic, but he appreciated Agent Gray checking up on him. It definitely could be a tough around the holidays without any family around. Especially how fun the Fourth of July could be in this day and age. His parents would have loved it; all the food, the parades, the fireworks.

Steve suddenly stopped the machine as he remembered something. Both of Marcy's parents were now deceased. He didn't recall any mention of siblings. Did she have anyone to be with tonight? He was an idiot, he should have invited her along. Steve looked around the exercise room, but Agent Gray was already long gone.

As the day passed, Steve kept an eye out for her, but he never saw her again before he left for the afternoon.

* * *

 

 

Steve rang the front doorbell, bags of ice in his hand. It was the same house where he and Natasha had knocked on the back door a few months earlier, on the run from SHIELD. It was nice to come back under more pleasant circumstances.

Sam Wilson answered the door, breaking into a smile at the sight of his friend. “Steve, glad you could make it, man.” He extended a hand and both exchanged a hearty handshake.

“Glad to be here now that I'm not running for my life,” Steve replied.

“Yeah, I hear that. Thanks for bringing the ice, man, I totally forgot.” Sam stepped aside, inviting the taller man in.

“No problem, thanks for inviting me.”

“Yeah, don't thank me yet,” Sam said in a lower tone, taking the ice from him. “You still have to meet my family.”

Even before stepping inside, Steve could tell the place was full of noise and people. “Full house today, huh?”

“You bet. The Wilsons know how to do the Fourth right. It was my dad's favorite holiday. We like to keep his memory alive by burning good food and blowing things up.”

Steve laughed. “Sounds good.”

Two little boys, the source of the banging sounds up above them, came tearing down the stairs, nearly knocking into Steve on the way to the kitchen.

“Those are my nephews,” Sam said. “And that's my older sister, Nikki.”

A heavier, bright eyed woman passed by the kitchen doorway, a toddler on her hip.

“Hi,” she greeted. “So good of you to come to our-” She cut herself off, a sharp glare directed into the kitchen. “Hey! Devon, don't you swing that sword in here! I'm not playing with you! You boys take it outside right now!”

As she disappeared further inside, another woman, older and a bit heavier than the last came out. She had the same bright eyes as Nikki and an extra spring in her step as she came down the hall.

“Oh, is this him?” she asked excitedly.

“Yup, Steve, this is my mom, Nadine. Mom, this is Captain Rogers.”

Steve nodded in her direction. “Pleasure to meet you, ma'am.”

“Oh! None of that now.” Sam's mother quickly waved him off. “You can call me Mama. We are all family here.”

Steve looked unsure, even as Nadine reached up to grab his face and plant kisses on both his cheeks. “I'm so happy my Sammy met you. You got him out of that office job and back out there, doing what he does best. My boy flies that sky like God always meant for him to have wings.”

“Yes, ma'am,” Steve agreed. “Sam is amazing. Not only that, he's a hero. He helped us save the world. I couldn't have done it without him. You should be very proud.”

“Oh, we are, we are.” She hugged her son around the middle and then gestured to Steve. “Well come on back, we've got all the food out. I hope you're hungry. We always tend to cook more food than we've got people.”

Steve was led to the backyard which was small, but immaculately kept. There was a shorter, stout man already at the grill, Nikki's husband. The two boys were now running around in the grass. Steve was about to check out the food table when a woman with perfectly dark skin and full lips stepped in his way.

“Hey there,” she greeted, openly eyeing him up and down. “You're a lot taller than you look on TV. A lot cuter, too.”

Steve didn't know what to say to that, so he just laughed nervously.

The woman moved in uncomfortably close and Steve could smell her perfume. “You got your shield wit' you, soldier boy? I'd love to see it some time. I bet it's... big.”

“Ronnie!” Sam quickly stepped in, separating the two. “Steve, this is my baby sister Veronica, who was just going to go inside to grab the jello or something.” He looked pointedly at his sister.

“Fine,” Veronica huffed. “I can take a hint.” She sashayed back into the house, purposefully swinging her hips before throwing Steve a sultry look and disappearing inside.

Steve was left blinking blankly in her wake.

“Don't date her,” Sam said to him.

“I wasn't even trying...” Steve insisted.

“I know, but I'm just saying. Ronnie's high maintenance and I love her, but she's a much higher price than you want to pay for that kind of crazy, know what I'm saying?”

Steve shook his head but said, “Let's pretend I do.”

* * *

 

Dinner was very nice. Everyone settled down to eat and Steve couldn't remember the last time he had sat down at a full table like this. Or ate so much good home cooking. It was starting to get dark by the time they began to clean up, bellies full and still plenty of leftovers. Nadine was already packing food into Tupperware, insisting Steve take it home.

Outside, the kids ran around with sparklers while Sam pulled out a large collection of store brand fireworks. As the mini explosive devices whistled and spat multicolored fire into the air, Steve had to say it was a pretty good night. For a brief moment, he felt like a normal person. And he felt like he belonged right where he was.

In the background, the faint sound of the doorbell sounded.

“I got it,” Veronica, who was already in the house, called.

Nobody outside thought anything of it until her voice drifted out to the backyard.

“Sammy? You got a bloody, soaked white girl on your front porch.”

That caught the attention of both soldiers.

“What?” Sam demanded, wondering if his sister was messing with him.

“I think she might be high. Should I call the cops?”

“Hold on,” Sam called, heading into the house. “Keep the kids back here,” he said to his mother before stepping inside. Concerned, Steve followed a few paces after him, standing protectively next to Veronica as Sam answered the door.

There standing on his porch, as his sister said, a soaking wet woman as if she had just crawled out of a lake. Her dark brown hair clung to her face, skin pale white as if in shock. She wore a black T-shirt and pajama bottoms, one arm bleeding, her bare feet also cut and bloody. It did indeed look like there was a crazy person standing in front of his home.

“Is Captain Rogers here?” she asked in a shaky voice, fists clenching and unclenching nervously.

“Marcy?” Steve rushed forward, alarmed by her physical state. “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I need a ride to SHIELD,” she said, eyes wide like saucers.

“Looks like the only ride you need is to the hospital,” Sam mumbled.

Steve turned to him. “I can't take her on my bike.”

Sam's mouth was set in a firm line. “Let me get my car keys.”

As he moved off, Steve stooped in, offering a supportive arm as Marcy limped into the house. “You should let us look at you first.”

“No good,” she said, wincing with every step. “I was attacked in my apartment. I don't think they followed me here, but we need to get to SHIELD. Now.”

Sam returned with his keys, an old towel and a first aid kit in his possession. His mother trailed behind him.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, we're fine, Mom. Just have to give Steve and his... friend a ride.”

“Also, coworker,” Steve clarified.

“Agent Marcy Gray,” she added. “Sorry to intrude, it's been a rough night.”

“Sorry, Mom. I need to go take care of this,” Sam said.

Nadine kissed the side of her son's temple. “You go do what you need to do, baby. Keep saving the world. We'll get things cleaned up and put the kids to bed.”

“Okay, Mom. I'll call you when I know what's going on.”

Sam led the two to the garage, getting in the driver's seat of his car while they climbed in the back. Marcy sat sideways in the seat so she could finally inspect her damaged feet.

“Don't get any blood on my seats, I just got this car a month ago,” Sam warned as he pulled out of the garage.

Steve was right there, putting the towel under her bleeding feet to keep the upholstery clean. He then gently took the foot she wasn't examining and inspected it himself.

“There's a big piece of glass in this one,” he said.

Marcy hissed through her teeth. “Can you get it out?”

The piece was so big, Steve managed to grab a hold of it with his bare fingers. Marcy grimaced in pain as it was yanked out. Fresh blood seeped from the wound and Steve wrapped the foot in the towel.

“I thought it was supposed to hurt more going in than coming out,” Marcy said. She noticed Sam glance at her in the rear view mirror. “Were you going to say 'that's what she said'?” she accused.

Sam smiled, he had totally been thinking it. “I didn't say a word.”

“I don't understand,” Steve said.

Sam just laughed.

* * *

 

Due to the captain's warning call, Bruce Banner met the car outside SHIELD Central as it pulled up, first aid kit in hand. All the real medical personnel had gone home for the night, but Fury was making calls in the wake of these new events.

When Sam parked the car, Steve climbed out first and then offered his hand to help Marcy scoot out feet first.

“What's the damage?” Bruce asked as she remained in the back seat, legs dangling out.

“Mostly just bloody feet. Lots of broken glass.”

Bruce winced in sympathy. Her soles were still bleeding a bit.

“You can look at them once we're inside,” Steve said. Without notice, he leaned forward and scooped Marcy up in his arms.

Her face instantly felt hot. “Hey! You... you don't have to do that. I can--”

“Walk?” Steve countered with a brow raised in challenge. “No, you can't. Just let me get you inside.”

She glanced back to Sam and Bruce, but the two were definitely not going to help her on this. So she resigned herself to being carried bridal style into SHIELD Central. She was sure her face was bright red by now. Steve's gorgeous face was far, far too close to hers. She tried to look anywhere else but at him as they stood in the silent elevator going up.

He shifted her a little as they waited.

“Sorry if I'm heavy,” Marcy mumbled, face still hot. She was well aware she was deceptively heavy for her size. Normally she liked that about herself. It meant she could hit harder than her opponents were expecting. Right now, she was hyper aware that she weighed more than most girls her size.

“Not at all,” came the light reply. His tone meant to remind her that Steve was still a super soldier. What normal men might find heavy was just fine for him.

Marcy's face burned anew. _Stop it, Marce! What are you, a twelve-year old girl? Get a grip!_

They finally arrived at the examination room and Steve relinquished her to a table. Bruce slid up in a chair to take a look at her damaged feet.

“What a mess,” he exclaimed as he looked around for some tweezers. “You've got glass all over.”

“Didn't have time to put on shoes. One second I was minding my own business, then all my windows just shattered and bodies were flying into the apartment. All I could do was fight my way out and run.”

Bruce found what he was looking for and got to work picking tiny slivers of glass out of her skin.

“Do you know who they were?” Steve asked. He kept shifting from one foot to another. The news that there were bad guys out there attacking his friends in their homes made him restless.

“They weren't wearing team jerseys, just all black.” Marcy winced as another large piece was pulled from her flesh.

“Well, what were they after?” Sam put in. “Why attack you?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. I can't think of anything of worth in my apartment that guys like that would be after.”

“So many in here,” Bruce muttered to himself, pushing the light closer to her feet to get a better look at the tiny shards.

“I guess I should be glad I wasn't in the shower at the time,” Marcy quipped. “Or else you'd be pulling a lot more glass out of a lot more interesting places.”

Steve suddenly stopped shifting, eyes wide as he was hit with a mental image.

Sam elbowed him in the side, breaking his daydream. “I like her, she's funny.”

“Hey everybody,” Tony announced as he poked his head in. “Is this where the party's at?”

Sam's jaw dropped. “Holy shit, that's Tony Stark,” he hissed to Steve. “You know who that is? That's THE Iron Man!”

“I know who it is,” Steve intoned.

“Don't you have a home?” Marcy accused as the billionaire approached.

“Several around the world, yes,” Tony retorted. “Including that big tower in the middle of the city, if you recall.”

“That building with the big A? Everyone around here calls it the Avengers Building after the battle with the Chitauri.”

“What?” Tony protested. “That A is for Anthony Stark, that's me. It's my building.”

“Mr. Stark, Sam Wilson, I'm a big fan.” Sam moved in, offering his hand.

Tony shook it halfheartedly as he looked around the room for assistance. “And who is this?”

“Falcon,” Steve offered. “He's the guy who helped us through the whole Project Insight incident.”

“The wing man!” Tony now seemed a bit more amiable at shaking the man's hand. “Very interesting gadget you got there. You a part of our boy band now?”

“I'm sorry, your what?” Sam asked.

Director Nick Fury cut off any further conversation as he stepped into the room. “All of you into the conference room. We pulled up the video feed from Gray's apartment.”

“They bug your apartments?” Sam whispered to Steve.

“Welcome to SHIELD,” he responded back.

Marcy's eyes widened again. “There's really no need to watch the video,” she insisted hastily. “I can just tell you what happened.”

Fury glared at her. “What sort of dumbass thing is that to say? Get yourselves in here so we can watch this.”

Marcy groaned as she slid off the table, and it wasn't because of her damaged feet.

* * *

 

All present sat at a semi circle table, a large screen before them. All were eager to see what was on the tape, save for Marcy, whose brows were drawn in trepidation as if she were about to watch her own future death.

The camera bug was obviously planted down low. They were treated to a view of Marcy's apartment looking up from the floor. In front of the couches sat two cardboard stand-ups. One was of Captain America and he wore a pair of comically large yellow sunglasses and a purple feather boa hanging around his cardboard shoulders. The other stand-up was of Tony Stark in his Iron Man suit. That one had a pink blow-up guitar hanging from his shoulders and a glittery blue wig on its head.

“What the hell?” Sam demanded, taking in the odd sight.

“Oh, God, why?” Marcy moaned to herself. She had covered her bright red face with her hands, watching the movie through her fingers.

Then Marcy came on screen, wearing the same pjs she had on and dancing to music that they could not hear.

“Oh, please tell me there's sound to this,” Tony begged.

“One second.” Fury fiddled with his laptop and Billy Idol's “Dancing With Myself” flooded the room.

The Marcy on screen danced along with the music can-can style with her two cut outs. She kissed Captain American on the face and then proceeded to hip bump Iron Man. Then she stepped out in front and shook her booty like, well, like no one was watching her.

Most of those present were greatly enjoying themselves. Bruce of all people was laughing the hardest of all, though he was trying to keep it to himself as best he could. Steve was greatly amused himself until he remembered that Marcy had asked him earlier that day if he had any plans. He had inadvertently blown her off, resulting in her being in her apartment all alone that night when she was attacked.

He glanced her way. She was sinking lower and lower in her chair as the dancing version of her continued on screen. Steve felt like a scumbag.

As if summoned to ruin everyone's viewing pleasure, a large gray tabby wandered in front of the camera and then proceeded to chew on it. The audience booed the cat mouth covering the screen.

“Get out of the way, stupid cat!” Sam jeered.

“Dipshit!” Tony barked next to him. Then he suddenly jumped to his feet. “Wait! What is that?”

Fury quickly paused the video, wondering if he had noticed something important.

“Up there in the corner by the ear.” Tony pointed. “That. What is that?”

There, in the top right corner, barely in the shot, sat a teddy bear dressed in what seemed to be a little Captain America outfit. Caught, Marcy muttered something in a low voice. Bruce, who sat next to her, clearly heard what she said and let out another fresh batch of snorting laughs.

“I'm sorry, what?” Tony pressed.

Marcy sighed loudly and said in a clear voice. “Captain A-bear-ica.”

Tony laughed along, cackling wildly.

Sam turned to his friend, voice low. “Dude, Steve, this chick digs you big time. Don't tell me you guys are just coworkers.”

Steve just hushed him as Fury rolled his eyes and started the video again.

The cat gave a few more good chews to the camera and then quickly skittered off in alarm as Marcy's windows shattered. Bodies dressed all in black, faces covered, flew in through the windows. Marcy was instantly on the defensive. Despite the broken glass on her floor, she flew into a flurry of punches and kicks at her attackers.

She high-kicked a gun right out of the first assailant's hands before back kicking the one behind her right in the groin. All men present winced in empathy even though the guy deserved it. Marcy then jumped back on the first one, knees around his neck. Twisting her hips, she threw them both to the floor with her on top. With a sharp cry, she punched the heel of her hand into the attacker's neck and he instantly grabbed his throat, trying to breathe.

Groin Kick and another ganged up on her then, forcing her onto her knees as one of them retrieved something from a pouch. Whatever they were trying to do, they didn't get to do it very long before she headbutted one of the guys in the nose. She rolled over, kicking the other in the solar plexus with a bloody foot before scrambling away and out of the apartment.

The camera could not follow the action after that. The men in black left the apartment, leaving damaged card board cutouts in their wake. Then all remained silent on the screen.

Tony let out a low whistle when the fight was over. “Sister, you're one tough cookie.”

Marcy ignored him and looked at Fury. She was fighting to be professional despite her earlier mortification at the impromptu dance party of one. “There's a canal behind the complex. I jumped into that and it took me to Mr. Wilson's neighborhood where I asked Captain Rogers to help me get back here.”

“That still doesn't explain what those men were doing there in the first place,” Fury said.

Bruce tipped his head as he looked at Marcy's arm. He pulled out the tweezers he still had in his pocket and jabbed them into the red puckered flesh on Marcy's bicep.

“Ow!” she complained as he dug in. “Ow, ow, ow, ow."

Bruce pulled out a broken syringe needle. “Looks like they were trying to pump you full of something.”

Marcy rubbed the now bleeding wound, using her finger to block the blood. She didn't even remember the syringe. The whole thing was just a blur. “Whatever they were trying to put in me, they didn't get a chance. I feel normal.”

“Or,” Tony offered, “what if they were trying to take something out? Any reason they'd want a blood sample?”

Everyone fell quiet. Marcy and Fury exchanged certain looks.

“It's late. There's not much more we can do tonight,” Fury announced. “Agent Gray, we should have a doctor on site by now. I want you checked out and then we're going to keep a security detail on you until we get this figured out.”

She didn't look happy about that, but she nodded with a “Sir.”

“Agent Hill already has a team inspecting your apartment. I'll have her pack you a bag.”

“Thank you, Sir. And my cat?”

Fury gave her a small smile. “I'll ask her to look around for it. The rest of you go home and get some sleep. Those of you who actually work here,” he looked pointedly at Tony, “report back in the morning.”

“Alright, well that was my invitation to get the hell out,” Tony announced as he stood. He patted Marcy on the shoulder. “Nice work there, Me Party.”

“Yeah, except what happens at the me party is supposed to stay at the me party,” she shot back.

Bruce stood from his seat, offering her a hand. “Come on, I'll help you back and then I'll drive down to see if I can find your cat. He knows me.”

For the first time, the fatigue from the night's craziness showed in her face and for a moment, he thought she might cry. “Thanks, Bruce. I appreciate it.”

* * *

 

Steve and Sam walked through the lobby of SHIELD Central, heading for the front door. But as they stepped out to go to Sam's car, Steve lingered behind, hands in his pockets.

“I'm not going, I need to stay here,” he called to his friend.

Sam turned around, understanding in his face. “Don't worry about it, man. Do what you gotta do.” He moved in closer. “Be straight with me, you like this girl?”

“She's a friend. I care about her.”

“But that's all, huh? Just a friend?”

The taller blond man shrugged helplessly. “I'm still working that out.”

Sam reminded himself that Steve was not a man of normal experiences and he probably had a few hang ups that Sam could not relate to.

“Fine, that's fine. But we're friends, yeah? You'd tell me if you were hittin' that, right?”

Steve narrowed his brows at him. “Are you asking if I've hit her before?”

Sam laughed. “No, man, no. Don't worry about it.” He clapped Steve on the shoulder. “You have a good night. Come back in the morning if you want. My mom will make you breakfast. Good luck.”

* * *

 

Marcy hissed against the hot water on her abused feet. SHIELD medics had scrubbed the soles raw in attempts to remove all the tiny slivers of glass stuck in her flesh. Most likely, there were still a few pieces she would be picking out in the coming days. Despite the pain, she stubbornly remained in the shower until she felt clean. After swimming in that rank canal, she hoped she didn't gain any gnarly infections from that water.

Stepping out of one of the communal stalls in the women's shower room, she wrapped a towel around herself and dressed in the generic gray sweats SHIELD kept on hand. Once dressed, she sat on a bench and inspected her feet. A few of the cuts were still bleeding, leaving pink marks on her towel and the floor. The one where Steve pulled out the large piece of glass was bleeding the most. At least now that everything was clean, she could wrap these babies up for the night.

Next to the men's and women's communal showers was a large rec room with tables and a small kitchen, along with a few couches and a wall-mounted TV. It had a homey feel for such a professional building, but it was not a place where she could stay the night. Marcy knew she was marinating in some good old denial, acting like she could just take a shower at work and then go back home after she was dressed and bandaged.

No, there would be no staying at her apartment that night, not with her windows busted and the place a wreck. Eventually someone, probably Agent Hill, would show up with a packed travel bag from her apartment and give her the key to one of the on-site rooms. SHIELD HQ wasn't just a professional workplace, it serviced the needs of all employees. Anything from training to ammunition, to full gym and kitchen facilities, to a safe place to sleep for both employees and civilians under their protection. Marcy knew that eventually she would no longer be able to pretend that random strangers hadn't chased her out of her own home and sent her limping to HQ to hide. She hated it, but it looked like for this night, they had won.

With hair wrapped in a towel, first aid kit in hand, Marcy limped into the rec room, trying to keep the worst of her foot wounds from touching the carpet. She expected the place to be completely empty, but the TV was on and someone sat on the couch. Long legs stretched out, crossed at the ankles, strong arms propped over the back of the couch while sharp blue eyes turned her way when she entered.

“Steve, I thought you would have gone back with your friend,” Marcy said in surprise.

“Yeah, I was going to,” he said, turning back to the sports report on the TV, “but there was something I wanted to do.”

Her heart began to flutter. Something he wanted to do? Large was the list of things she wanted him to do, things she would let him do to her. But she forced calm on herself with a long breath and sat down on the opposite end of the couch. _Chill, what he's thinking and what I'm thinking are not the same thing._

“And what is that?” she asked as she pulled up one damaged foot and inspected it.

Steve's gaze was momentarily caught by the pink nail polish on those wiggling toes. “I really wanted to apologize for earlier today, I'm an idiot. I should have asked if you wanted to come with me to Sam's. I didn't even consider that you might be spending the holiday alone.”

Her face turned red again, embarrassed all over again at the video that had been witnessed by so many people she respected. Clint knew what a huge raging dork she was—but not many others. She had hoped to keep at least some of that from Steve. Too late now.

“Don't even worry about it. It's not a big deal.”

Steve now had all his attention on her, his face serious. “Marcy, you were attacked. You could have been taken or killed. None of that would have happened if I were with you.”

“Or, we might have been attacked in your friend's backyard with his family there. There's no need to feel bad, Steve. This wasn't your fault.”

“I know,” he said honestly. “But it doesn't stop me from wishing I could do it over.” He paused, watching her awkwardly attempt to bandage and wrap her feet. “I can do that for you.”

Marcy froze for several moments before looking up. She felt very unworthy to have Steve Rogers touch her feet. “That's okay. I got it.”

“I'll have you know I'm very good at bandaging wounds. Had a lot of experience during The War. And certainly far worse than those little cuts.”

“I'm sure you are. But I'm not going to make you touch my nasty feet. You don't have to.”

“Agent Gray, put them up here. Now.”

The authorative tone on his voice both sent a shiver down her spine and made her respond instantly, propping both feet up on the couch.

“There, that wasn't so hard, Ms. Pink Toes,” Steve said with satisfaction as he pulled the first aid kit closer to himself. “I understand you're used to doing things yourself, but it's okay to let people help you. Especially those who care about you.”

Marcy glanced up, face flushed all over again. Not that it wasn't a little pink before. She seemed to be in a perpetual state of blush whenever Steve gave her attention. She wished she was mature enough to grow out of such a childish thing, but apparently not. So instead, she glanced away and muttered a quiet “Thank you.”

He smiled at her, that charming smile she could barely handle. God, she was so pathetic.

“Just doing my duty, ma'am.”

Marcy blinked at him, and then burst out laughing. Covering her red face, she couldn't stop laughing for several moments. Steve, grinning wide, looked very proud about that as well.

* * *

 

Sometime later, Agent Maria Hill walked into the main commons room, travel bag in hand for Marcy of the basic essentials she had hand-picked from the damaged apartment. She paused silently when she noticed the scene on the couch. The TV was still on before two sleeping bodies, blankets draped over both. Steve Rogers dozed on one side of the couch, his legs still stretched out before him, his head propped up on his knuckles. Agent Gray slumbered on the opposite end of the couch, her bandaged feet upon Steve's lap.

Maria watched the two for a moment, then set the bag on the floor next to them and walked away.

 


	10. Fade

**Faded**

**Chapter Ten: Fade**

 

Steve found Agent Gray in an empty conference room with large windows on opposite ends, giving a generous view to both the New York cityscape and along the inner hallway. He knocked on the door frame as he stepped in.

“How come whenever you get hurt, I can't find you for a few days?” he accused.

Marcy only glanced up for a moment from her paperwork. “Because I like to lick my wounds in private. That's how I roll.”

“And you're already off security detail?” Steve checked in a motherly tone. Marcy was supposed to have security escorts with her since her attack a few days previous.

“They're only for when I leave work,” she assured him. “While I'm here, I'm like a phantom.”

“No one can find you unless you want to be found, right,” Steve remembered as he took a chair next to her. “How's your apartment looking? I can't imagine you still want to live there.”

“Nope. It's still a disaster zone covered in police tape. I've been using my mom's old house. She left it to me.”

“Oh, I bet that's nicer than an apartment.”

“It has its perks. The cat likes the space. More places for him to barf.”

Steve chuckled while Marcy went back to her paperwork. The soldier drummed his fingers on the table, trying to think of more small talk. But it really wasn't the small talk he came for. He had hunted her down to ask her something specific. Why couldn't he just get it out and say it?

_Come on, Steve, you can do this. Just say the words. Marcy, do you want to go out to dinner? It's not that hard. It's just dinner. You can say it._

“Hey, Marcy, um...”

Her hand was suddenly on his wrist and he looked down at the physical contact. She gripped him harder and Steve's gaze rose to her face. Her eyes were glued to the windows in the hall, body stiff and afraid.

In the hallway, a group of people walked by. They didn't look like agents. If anything, they looked to Steve like a group of suits and scientists. He had a similar entourage present during his transformation when he was injected the super soldier serum.

Whoever they were, Marcy was scared of them, that much was clear. She gripped his wrist blindly until they left. Steve lightly touched her hand on his and she quickly pulled away, looking down at her lap.

“Sorry about that, I didn't mean to,” she said in a rattled, embarrassed voice.

_You can touch me whenever you want,_ Steve's mind said silently.  _Whenever you're scared, I'm here for you._

But even he wasn't brave enough to say it out loud. Instead, he leaned toward her, voice low. “Marcy.” He noticed her breathe in a dainty gasp when he used her first name. “Tell me what's wrong.”

She opened her mouth to respond. He leaned in further, as if trying to shield her from her fears with his own form. Her lips were now close to his as they parted to speak.

“Agent Gray.” One of the suits was at the door, looking at her. “Can you come with us, please?” His tone expressed that it wasn't a mere polite request.

Marcy quickly pulled away from Steve, floundering for a response. “Right now? I have some things I need to do.”

“Now, Agent.”

A little shaken, Marcy stood and gathered her files. Steve watched her. This wasn't his imagination, she was distressed. Was she in danger of some sort? If she was, couldn't she give him some indication on how to help her? As it was now, Steve didn't know what to do. There were no enemies here, no guns, no alien invaders, no Hydra agents. This man was also with SHIELD, so why was Marcy so scared of him?

As she scooted out the door, Steve stood to follow them. At the very least he felt he should see where they were going with her. But as he existed the room, Clint Barton stood in his way, blocking the path down the hall.

“Hey, what's going on with Agent Gray?” the captain asked. “What do they want with her?”

“Don't worry about it,” Clint said, trying to bodily back him up into the conference room and out of sight.

Steve stubbornly held his ground. “They're not going to hurt her or anything are they?”

“No, I'll make sure of it,” Clint vowed lowly.

This was not a common workplace conversation and Steve was growing more concerned by the moment. “Where are they taking her? What are they going to-”

Clint shoved an object in his hand- a computer memory stick. “I'll keep an eye on her, I promise. Just go look at that, but not here. Got me?”

Steve looked him in the eye. He was not keen on leaving, but if there was something he needed to know, then Clint was certainly the guy he could trust with Marcy's safety while he was gone.

“Okay. But call me if you need me.”

Clint nodded and Steve left with his clandestine information. Whatever it was.

* * *

 

 

Once in the privacy of his own apartment, Steve booted up his laptop and plugged in the memory stick. There were no files to look through, just a video that began playing on its own.

A thin, bookish man with glasses appeared on the screen, seeming to sit in front of a camera. The recording quality suggested this was not a video taken anytime recently.

“This is Dr. Russel A. Dench,” the man began in a report-like tone. “The date is March 4, 1981. I am the head supervisor for this project, code A4269 and these are my findings to date.

“In recap, during World War II, there began a scientific race on both sides to alter and perfect enhanced soldiers to aid in the war efforts. Many different tests and experiments were conducted on volunteers and POWs alike, forcing men to endure both physical and chemical alterations. All of which failed, leaving many dead in their wake.

“In 1942, Dr. Abraham Erskine claimed to have perfected a “Super Soldier” serum which would chemically enhance the physical prowess of a man beyond human limits. The experiment took place in August of that same year on a...” the man paused to confer with his notes, “Steven Rogers from Brooklyn, New York, age 24. The experiment proved successful with the test subject resulting in an enhanced physical state instantly. Further tests verified an increase in strength, muscle mass, and endurance. Rogers was also reported to be asthmatic at the time of the experiment, a condition that was immediately cured.

“Erskine's super soldier was a success in every way. Unfortunately, he was assassinated mere seconds after the experiment and the details of the super soldier formula died with him.”

The man on screen momentarily fiddled with his notes while Steve sighed. The report had taken him back to that day. He recalled Dr. Erskine dying before his eyes. Only the first of many deaths he had personally witnessed in his lifetime.

“The success of Dr. Erskine's experiment only fueled the race to find the next super soldier serum, even though the war was long over.” Dr. Dench continued, “In 1957, Dr. Anton Isaacs completed his own kind of formula, which he dubbed Project Ghost. Whereas the desired result was to give the subject the ability to render themselves invisible.”

Dr. Dench's face disappeared from the screen, turning to fuzzy black and white video footage taken from that time period. Dr. Dench voiced over the scene.

“The serum was administered to eight different volunteers, most of which died within the next 48 hours after exposure.”

The video showed a man strapped to a table, clearly in severe pain. He looked bloated and sweaty, but then his skin changed. No, not changed, it went transparent, showing all the muscle groups it held underneath. Muscle and bone began to fade, revealing organs and veins. Steve could see the man's heart beating rapidly in the subject's chest. Too rapidly. It raced faster and faster. Steve jerked back when the visible heart burst inside the man's chest, killing him instantly.

“The serum put an impossible strain on the host's body,” Dr. Dench's voice intoned, “causing full system arrest and shut down of all major organs. Out of the eight test subjects, only one survived. A man by the name of Daniel Shepherd, age 21. The serum made him violently ill for the next three days, but then he began to recover. Once he had his health back, he was able to render himself invisible at will.”

On the screen, a young man in 50's attire suddenly disappeared before Steve's eyes. “Woah!” he yelped in surprise, nearly jumping to his feet. Steve hadn't been expecting that at all.

In the footage, chairs were moved and boxes tipped over seemingly by themselves. Then Dr. Dench's face appeared on screen again.

“Mr. Shepherd was invited into SHIELD after the success of the experiment. He worked as a field agent for nearly 15 years before he was killed in action.

“In the meantime, the ghost formula was still tested on other subjects. But again, none of them survived the transformation process. By then, its creator, Dr. Isaacs, had retired himself from the SHIELD research department. He was found hanged in his room, a suicide note left expressing his regret for so many deaths in the name of his experiment.”

Dr. Dench took in a breath and loudly let it out. “Which brings us to today. SHIELD still holds the full Ghost formula after Isaacs' death. Agent Shepherd had a daughter by the name of Claudia Shepherd.” Steve leaned forward. That was the name of Marcy's mother. “She has recently turned 21, the same age as her father at the time of his transformation, and asked that we administer the Ghost serum to her.

“After explaining the death rate and all the risks, she still insisted on the procedure. For the record, I was against the experiment, but the board was insistent it be done. The dosage was administered and I am pleased to report that after 48 hours, the subject is stable and recovering quickly.

“These results cause me to speculate that there was something in Mr. Shepherd's genetic code that allowed the serum to properly bond with his DNA. Those traits were passed down to his daughter and, most likely, any offspring she has will also be able to survive the transformation if exposed.

“In the future, I hope to identify the specific 'ghost gene' that makes the experiment successful in the Shepherd lineage. With that information, we will be able to more accurately locate test subjects that will survive the process. I will report further as more information develops.”

The video file ended and Steve stared at the black screen for several seconds more. If Marcy had also been exposed to the ghost serum, that explained so much about her. _No one can find her if she doesn't want to be found._ It also explained why those suits and scientists were looking for her. Steve knew he had to talk to her.

* * *

 

“And this is the last one,” the man in the white lab coat said, holding up an empty syringe.

“Good,” Marcy responded flatly.

“Of course, it would probably be more helpful if you let us take some blood while you were in your transformed state.”

Marcy gave him a look that said he was lucky she was being this helpful. She had already allowed them to take hair and nail samples, a mouth swab and a small skin scrape. Her blood was the last thing she was prepared to give them and not a sample more. The man silently filled his last vile of blood and pulled out the needle. A band-aid was pressed to the puncture wound and Marcy was free to go.

She walked out of the lab, rolling her sleeve down over her arm while the suits and the geeks all muttered behind her in low tones. They did not sound happy and Marcy didn't care. As long as they let her walk out of there, she didn't care one bit.

Clint happened to be further down the hall. “Brought you something,” he greeted, handing her a box of cookies.

“Sugar and carbs, excellent,” Marcy said, shoving a cookie in her mouth. “They seemed intent on draining me dry this time.”

Clint fell in step with her, hands in his pockets. “Sorry Tasha and I didn't make it to your party the other night. Sounds like it was interesting.”

“To say the least,” Marcy snorted. “No doubt it's why the science club dropped by to torment me.”

“Yeah, but no worries, I kept an eye on them for you.”

Marcy almost laughed at that. “Yeah, no worries. I'm going home for the rest of the day before those guys think of another reason to get me back in that room.”

* * *

 

 

Steve didn't return to SHEILD central that day, there was too much to think about. What was he supposed to do with this information? Did Marcy know that he knew? Would she be okay if he tried to talk to her about it?

Steve wandered out on his balcony, letting the hot summer air hit him. He leaned on the rail, gaze trailing off as he considered the possibilities.

“Yo, blondie! Starry-eyed dreamer! Down here!”

Steve was shaken from his thoughts and looked down to see Tony Stark sitting in a black convertible in his parking lot. Bruce Banner was in the passenger seat. Steve didn't feel up to talking to them right now.

“What do you want, Stark?” he asked flatly.

“You didn't happen to get a little piece of classified information lately, did you? About certain top secret government experiments?”

“...maybe.”

“We went to visit Agent Gray's apartment and she wasn't there. Everything's still all taped up.”

“And?”

“We were wondering if you knew where she's staying?”

Steve frowned. Why didn't they just call him instead of yelling about classified information from his parking lot? “What makes you think I know?”

“Oh, stuff and things,” Tony replied, inference in his voice. “Want to go on a little treasure hunt with us?”

Steve sighed and went back inside, closing his balcony door. Moments later he was seen coming down the stairs and approaching the ostentatious car.

“She told me she was staying at her mother's house, but I don't know where that is.”

“Easy enough to find out,” Tony said, putting on a pair of shades. “Get in, loser. We're going for a visit.”

* * *

 

With the help of JARVIS and SHIELD's personnel files, the house was easy to find. Tony had the address before they were even on the freeway entrance. The location was a single-level white and tan house located in the suburbs outside the city. Tony had to creep along to avoid running over several people's children playing in the street. He pulled into the driveway, parking next to a black SUV.

The three men got out and walked up the front porch steps, Tony wrapping on the screen door. No answer.

“Not home?” Bruce wondered.

“Maybe she knows you're coming,” Steve said to Tony.

“Ha, ha.”

Across the street, a generic gray car was parked. Bruce glanced at it, noticing two men sitting inside.

“Well, her security detail is here,” he said. “She can't be too far away. I could go ask them where she is.”

“Where's the fun in that?” Tony countered, looking like he was considering climbing over the fence into the backyard.

Steve glanced up and down the sidewalk and noticed a feminine figure coming up the sidewalk toward the house.

“Maybe that's her.”

Tony squinted as the form moved quickly toward them, not running, but rollerskating. The woman paused in the driveway, watching them.

“Dear sweet mother of God,” Tony breathed.

Agent Gray's hair was in low pig tails. She wore a pink T-shirt with a pair of itty bitty black bike shorts. A white pair of retro style roller skates with red wheels finished up the look.

“What are you guys doing here?” she asked.

“Why are you wearing my fetish?” Tony countered, continuing to take her in from head to toe.

“I like to skate when I need to think,” she insisted. “It's good for the thigh muscles. Now if you would explain what you're-- did you just take a picture of me with your phone?”

Tony quickly shoved his cell phone back in his pocket. “I can't help it, girls on roller skates make the spider senses tingle in my pants.”

“Gross.” Marcy moved past them to the front door. She happened to notice Steve was also eyeing her appearance, though more subtly. “If you promise to behave yourselves you can come in.”

Across the street, the two SHIELD agents in the car watched them all go inside the house.

“Captain America, Iron Man and the Hulk are now with this agent,” the first man said. “Do we even need to be here?”

“Gotta stay unless we get ordered otherwise,” the other man responded. “At least if something happens, we can let them do all the work.”

* * *

 

 

Marcy left the three of them in the living room before rolling down the hall to the back bedroom where she slipped off her skates and put on a pair of jeans. She returned only to slide into the kitchen. “Anyone thirsty? I have strawberry lemonade or water.”

“Water,” Steve said.

“I'll try that lemonade,” said Bruce.

“Can I borrow those skates while Pepper's in town?” Tony asked. “What shoe size are you?”

“Could you stop playing around for a second?” Steve hissed at him. “Show a little respect.”

“I respected the hell out of that outfit,” Tony shot back. “She can wear that again anytime.”

Steve's hand actually balled into a fist, but the two suddenly sat at attention when Marcy entered the living room with glasses for everyone. Bruce and Tony were occupying the single chairs so the only open seat was next to Steve on the couch.

“So,” Marcy announced as she sat, “what do you guys want?”

Steve dug into his pocket and tossed the memory stick onto her coffee table.

Marcy watched it for a moment. “Despite what you may have heard, I cannot just know what is on a storage device by looking at it.”

“It contains information about Project Ghost,” Tony said. “And about the only two people who survived the process. People, I'm sure you know.”

Marcy leaned back in the couch, still staring at the small drive. “I see.”

“So the only question is,” Tony continued, “did you decide to become survivor number three?”

“I never took the serum,” Marcy said with a sigh in her voice. “I didn't have to. My mother and grandfather both had it in their systems. The abilities were naturally passed down to me.”

Steve looked her up and down, as if seeing her for the first time. “So you can...”

“Turn invisible?” Marcy finished. “Yup.”

The room went quiet as the obvious question hung in the air. Steve and Tony were locked in some sort of staring contest, daring the other to speak first.

“Can we... see it?” Bruce asked quietly, his scientist's curiosity getting the better of him.

And just like that, Marcy was no longer before their eyes.

Bruce jumped to his feet, excited like a child at Christmas. Even Tony was taken aback at the sudden display. The cushions next to Steve were still indented where the woman sat. He carefully reached over to see if he could touch her, but she was suddenly visible again and he pulled back.

“See? No big deal,” Marcy insisted.

“I beg to differ,” Bruce breathed. “That's truly amazing.”

“I want to see it again,” Tony said.

“Ditto,” Bruce agreed. “Can you do it slower?”

Marcy breathed out loudly through her teeth. “Okay,” she said, standing up. “But this is the last time.”

She shook out her muscles as if getting ready to sprint, then let out a slow breath. Delaying the process took a bit more concentration. Slowly, she began to grow transparent, like a ghost in a photo. Steve gaped up at her and she met his gaze, blinked slowly, and then dissipated from view.

“So cool,” Bruce breathed out.

“Except we still know you're there,” Tony said. “Being invisible isn't enough to completely disappear, right? People still have a feeling that they're not alone when you're around.”

He reached out to where he thought her wrist was, but only caught air.

“I'm over here,” Marcy said, suddenly appearing by the kitchen. “I've had plenty of time perfecting the art of complete invisibility. Yes, Mr. Stark, like a ninja,” she added when he opened his mouth.

“Well,” Tony said instead, “that explains why I found a file on you with the Avengers Initiative project.”

“Then why weren't you pulled in when we were hunting Loki?” Steve asked. “We probably could have used your help.”

“Excellent question,” Tony agreed. “What was your call sign again?”

“Fade,” she said. “They call me Fade. And no, I'm not an Avenger. I was a candidate for the initiative, but I was never inducted. My condition has... complications. Too many to be useful.”

“Like the DNR?” Steve asked with a frown.

“In a way, yes. The DNR was put in place because of certain conditions.” Marcy strolled over and took her seat back on the couch. She drummed her fingers on her knee as she gathered her thoughts. “Let's see, where to start with this. The Ghost serum is not kind to its host. Even though my grandfather survived the transformation, it was hard on his body. He had nosebleeds and headaches on the regular and heart palpitations and small seizures and things like that as he grew older.

“My mother fared better. She had fairly good health, but then her body just went into total system failure, just like all the others who died from the Ghost serum. We don't know if Grandad's death would have happened the same way, he was killed in the field.”

“And what about you?” Bruce asked, completely fascinated. “How's... your health?”

“Normal so far. “ She breathed out as if it were a relief to say. “I often had bad nosebleeds as a kid, but so far that's the worst of it. It probably has to do with the fact I was born with it. Also, for Mom and Grandad, going invisible was physically taxing for them. My mom said it was like holding her breath. The longer she did it, the harder it was to hold it. I don't have that problem.

“My problem is I change too easily. If I'm startled I'll sometimes fade without meaning to, as a defense mechanism. Or if I'm hurt, I'll reflexively go invisible unless I'm really trying not to. If I'm knocked unconscious I'll also fade. That's the reason for the DNR. If I'm in the field, knocked out somewhere, chances are a rescue team is going to risk themselves for something they can't see or find. It's not worth their lives.”

The room went silent and Marcy drummed her fingers on her knees again. “That's... all I've got.”

“No, it isn't,” Steve reminded. “You were still attacked in your apartment, what was that about?”

“Oh, that. The working theory is someone, possibly Hydra, was trying to get a hold of my blood. It's hypothesized on our team as well that my DNA holds the key to perfecting a serum that won't instantly kill the host.”

“So those guys that were at SHIELD today?”

“They wanted blood, too. They usually show up to gather more DNA samples every year or so.”

“And that's all they did?” Steve pressed.

“Yup, that's all.”

His hand fell on her nervous fingers, stilling them on her knee. “You were scared of them,” he reminded gently.

Marcy looked away, then back at him. Then up and down and every which way, trying to hide her embarrassment. She wanted to yank her hand away from his, she felt trapped sitting there under the gaze of the three men. It was not easy for her to admit her fears.

“Each year they propose to run certain tests on my condition. They want to treat me like a lab rat, test my limits, poke and prod at me. Cut pieces of me out for experiments. Each year I tell them no. And each time they are more insistent. Every time they come, I wonder if this is the time where I won't have the option of saying no.”

That was why Clint said he would keep an eye on her.

Steve squeezed her hand. “No one here is going to let them do anything to you that you don't want, I promise.”

Marcy felt so silly right then. Like a little girl being told she was safe from the imaginary monsters in the closet. She tried to laugh it off to get them all to stop looking at her that way. To get Steve to stop holding her hand and watching her with his beautiful eyes and that concerned brow.

Her laugh, however, instantly turned into the sound of a sob and she covered her mouth with her free hand. She wanted to disappear again in front of them now. She didn't want them to see her break down.

“I'm fine,” she insisted, fighting to compose herself. “Really, I'm fine.”

Steve rubbed his thumb against the back of her hand. “Marcy,” he said gently.

His voice, speaking her name in that whisper, broke her and Steve realized he had never seen her cry before. Not when she was standing at Sam's door, bloody, wide-eyed and shivering. Not at her mother's funeral. Everything was crashing now and the dam was too broken to stop it.

As much as she tried to stop it, a sob broke out of her. Steve didn't even think as he pulled her in. Marcy pushed against his hard chest, insisting through her tears she was fine. He was silent, patient, his arms unmovable. Finally she gave up, spending her energy trying to control the sobs instead as Steve tucked her head under his chin.

This was mortifying. Marcy was not in the habit of letting people see her cry. Especially those she greatly looked up to and respected. Just a few breaths and she regained control of herself. She sat still and silent until Steve released her. As much as she wanted to relish this once in a lifetime opportunity of having Steve's arms around her, her pride would not allow his sympathy. Once free, she pulled back and quickly wiped her eyes.

“Sorry about that. I guess it's been a rough week. I didn't realize everything had hit me so hard.”

“I don't mind, really I don't.” he replied earnestly, hands resting on his knees. His chest hurt at seeing Agent Gray cry. For some reason, it hurt even more that she was trying to school herself in front of him, trying to block him from her fears and emotions.

They were the only two people in the house now. Bruce and Tony seemed to have left at some point.

“I'm glad you guys know about everything now,” Marcy admitted. “It feels good. I'm not allowed to tell people what I can do unless they have clearance. My abilities aren't even in any of SHIELD's most secret personnel files.” There was a moment of silence and then she added, “You seemed know know that something was up. I was kind of impressed any time you caught me for making myself scarce. I hated not being able to explain it to you. It felt like I was lying to your face.”

Part of his mouth ticked up in a smile. “I understand why you couldn't tell me then, but I'm glad I know now. I like knowing more about you.”

Their gaze met and, as usual, Marcy had to look away, her cheeks hot.

* * *

 

 

Outside the house, Tony and Bruce waited on the porch. Bruce especially was enjoying the rural scenery of quaint little houses all in a row, the sound of a lawnmower somewhere in the distance. Children played in the street, unconcerned when a car inched by along the narrow, single-lane road. He envied all who lived here with everyday lives. One day he would like to have something like this; something normal.

“They're cute together, don't you think?” Tony suddenly said.

“Sure, I guess,” Bruce said, glancing back at the house. He didn't like seeing Agent Gray cry. He had seen too many tears from his own Betty already and he never grew used to a woman's pain. He never knew how to handle it. Steve was probably better at that kind of thing.

Then he glanced at Tony who was fiddling with his phone. “Are you looking at that picture of Marcy again?”

“Maybe.”

Bruce paused. “Let me see it.”

“What?” Tony snorted. “Get your own picture.”

“Just once, just let me see it,” Bruce insisted. He tried to grab the phone as Tony held it away, his hand on Bruce's face as he reached for it.

Across the street, the two men in the gray car watched the scene as a slap flight between Iron Man and the Hulk broke out in the yard.

“Best security detail ever,” one of them said with a grin.

* * *

 

 

The next day, Steve knocked on the closed door of Marcy's office before opening it. Seemingly very engrossed in the files on her computer, she looked up with a start, as if surprised anyone would bother her.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Captain Rogers.” Her surprise did not quit as she blinked wildly at him, as if he were a fantasy unexpectedly summoned to life at her door.

“I thought I'd just check on you to see how you're feeling.”

She paused and then carefully stated. “Very well, Captain, thank you for asking.”

The tone was so professional, so formal. After the day before, after holding her while she cried, Steve thought he deserved better than that. Maybe she was still embarrassed about the whole thing. Maybe he shouldn't mention it for a while. After all, that wasn't the reason he searched her out and he had been building up the confidence to talk to her all day. He just wanted to hurry and get it out before he lost his nerve.

“Hey, listen, I was just wondering if you had any plans this evening.”

“No,” she said guardedly. “I don't think so.”

“Then how about going to get dinner with me? It doesn't have to be anything nice. Or, it can be nice, if you want.” There, he said it. He had finally managed to ask her.

Marcy tipped her head at him as if studying a unique specimen. He could almost see the wheels in her head turning and he held his breath for her answer.

“Are we considering this a... date?” Marcy asked carefully.

Steve let out a chuckle to help calm his own nerves. “You can if you'd like.”

She broke out into a smile, something Steve thought he would love to see. But this smile, something was wrong with this smile. He couldn't say why, but warning bells went off in his head.

“Yes, Captain, I would love to. Could you pick me up around 7 so I have time to change?”

Her agreement made any concern fly out the window and he grinned.

“Great, I'll see you then. I'm looking forward to it.”

As Steve turned to leave, he was surprised with just how much his heart pounded and how much he really was looking forward to that evening.

* * *

 

 

The day dragged on impossibly slow for Steve. And then, 7 came far too fast. He had borrowed an actual car from SHIELD, something that wasn't a black SUV, to pick up his date. Regrettably, he arrived a little later than he had wanted to as he pulled up to the driveway.

Getting out, Steve waved across the street to Marcy's security detail. Maybe they wouldn't follow if she was with him for the night. At least that was what he hoped. He rang the doorbell, heart still fluttering. He had never taken a girl out on a one-on-one date before and he was admittedly quite excited and scared at the same time.

Marcy opened the door, pushing out the screen door to let him in.

“Captain,” she greeted. “Please come in.”

“Sorry I'm late,” he said as he stepped inside.

“Nonsense, I was still getting ready myself,” she responded.

Steve looked her over. Her hair was worn down, brown tendrils curling around her shoulders. She wore a small, black top with a low neck and a short flowered skirt that showed off her legs. Dangling earrings and several bracelets completed the outfit. She looked beautiful and radiant.

_Something is wrong,_ whispered a voice in the back of his head.

“You look very nice,” he said.

“Thank you, Captain,” Marcy grinned, obviously flattered. She purposefully turned in a circle to let him get an eye-full of her at every angle. That act seemed a little unlike her. Marcy had always been so uncomfortable when people looked at her. Especially when he looked at her, her face would always be so bright red.

_Something is wrong._

“Just one moment, let me grab my purse,” Marcy said as she disappeared down the hall.

Since when did Marcy own a purse?

A questioning feline sound caught Steve's attention. He saw Marcy's cat crouched under a chair, tail swishing in agitation. The cat's eyes were wide, pupils dilated, ears pressed back to his skull. He stared down the hall where his owner had gone.

_Something is wrong!_

“Okay, now I'm ready,” Marcy announced as she came back in. She flirtatiously lifted a leg to fiddle with the strap of the delicate white sandals she wore.

Steve stared hard at her toes. There was no nail polish on them, pink or otherwise.

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“What?” the woman asked blankly.

“You're not Agent Gray. Where is she?”

The woman's eyes widened with horror and she suddenly reached into her purse. Steve was too fast. He knocked the gun from her hand before she could pull it out. Desperate, the woman kicked at him, the heel of her shoe nearly slicing his cheek. A second kick flew at him and Steve grabbed her by the ankle, twisting.

With a pained cry, the woman flipped, landing to the floor on her face. Steve was instantly on top of her, bending one arm behind her back, knee between her shoulder blades.

“Now,” he hissed. “You tell me! Where is Agent Gray?”

* * *

 

 

Marcy moaned a she came into consciousness. Her mind felt sluggish, head on fire and she concluded she had been drugged. She could not remember the entire day. Did she even make it to work? No, she was at home, she concluded. That, she could remember. It was morning, she was getting ready for work. The racing of her heart at the recollection reminded her she was attacked at home. By who or how was still a blur. All she knew was that she wasn't at home now, or was she at SHIELD HQ.

Wherever she was, it was dark and cold. It smelled sterile of chemicals and cold metal. Like a laboratory, or a morgue. The unpleasant ache of chilled metal pressed against her bare back. She tried to move away from the uncomfortable cold only to find her ankles and wrists were shackled to the table. The alarm she felt helped chase away the cloudiness in her head. While she was out, someone had taken her clothes, leaving her in just a bra and panties.

As she struggled to get free, a bright light flipped on above her, giving her the gut-wrenching feeling that she was like a bug under a magnifying glass. She squinted at the glaring light, trying to see what was around her.

She became aware of a form approaching, looming over her.

“Hello, Agent Gray,” an unfamiliar voice said to her. “Welcome to my laboratory.”

 

 


	11. Lab Rat

**Faded**

**Chapter Eleven: Lab Rat**

 

Steve paced back and forth, agitated, angry.

Beyond his reach, in a glass interrogation room, sat a woman, hands cuffed behind her chair. She had the same hair as Agent Gray, similar height and body type. But now her face looked completely different. She had used a similar masking mesh that Natasha was fond of using to alter her appearance.

But now the charade was over. She probably never imagined Steve would make her out as an impostor so quickly. But as far as the interrogation was going, the woman had not made a single sound since brought to SHIELD central, no matter how much Director Fury yelled in her face.

Steve was getting more antsy by the second. The more time wasted, the longer Agent Gray had been missing. What if she needed help and they were still stuck in here sitting on their hands?

“I'm here! I'm here!” Tony Stark called as he jogged up the hallway, sweaty and out of breath. He paused to lean on his knees, panting heavily.

“You okay?” Steve asked, raising a brow.

“Elevator was out,” Tony huffed. “Had to take the stairs. Give me a minute.”

“Getting old?” Steve challenged.

“Don't even start with me.”

Natasha came stalking up the halls next. She didn't even offer a greeting before entering the interrogation room with Fury. The director exited shortly after so the redhead could do her thing.

“So do we have anything to go on right now?” Tony asked.

“Not yet,” Fury sighed. “Barton's taken a few other agents down to inspect the house and question the security detail. I'm waiting to hear from him for any information.”

“Wait. So the security detail is fine?” Tony pressed. “Nothing happened to them?”

“No one touched them and they didn't see a thing,” Fury confirmed. “Captain Rogers was the one who identified the plant in Agent Gray's place. If he hadn't, we still probably would have gone on with business as usual, like a bunch of unaware assholes.”

“So, she hasn't been gone for too long. A little more than 24 hours at the most.”

“And how did you come by that information?

“Because the Doc, Steve and I went to see her yesterday,” Tony said casually while Steve silently balked. “We had her show us her little magic trick, verifying that it was indeed her while we were there last.”

Fury's temper erupted. “That's classified! How did-” He forced himself to stop. Of course Tony's nosy ass found the files somehow. His smug grin did little to sway the director from his theory, be it true or not. Fury also still had no idea what Rogers was doing at Agent Gray's house that evening or how exactly he saw through the impostor's disguise.. Maybe, he told himself tiredly, he didn't want to know. All that mattered from here on out was finding the missing agent.

A startled cry from the interrogation room then caught their attention. The woman in custody was blubbering, Natasha's face mere inches from hers.

“I swear! I swear that's all I know! They didn't tell me anything!” the woman sobbed. “Please!”

Natasha huffed in disgust and sauntered out, the woman whimpering behind her.

“You got her to talk?” Steve asked when she stepped into the hall.

“I have my ways,” she responded cryptically. “Everyone has a breaking point. Some newbie agents crack more easily than others.” She then turned her attention to Fury. “She said Agent Gray was taken to some sort of laboratory. She doesn't know where. They gave her as little information as possible in case she was made.”

“Is she Hydra?” Steve asked.

Natasha glanced back at the woman in the other room. “Yeah, though she's clearly not the same caliber that we're used to. Hydra's getting desperate. They're running out of man power, taking on anyone who will follow orders for a paycheck.”

“That's not good,” Fury said gravely. “Desperate people can be very dangerous and we really have been pushing Hydra to the brink of desperation.”

“So how do we find Agent Gray if this one doesn't know where she is?” Steve pressed.

“I think the first thing is to figure out exactly why Hydra wants her,” Tony put in, putting a hand on Fury's shoulder. “As we know, you, Nicky J- do you mind if I call you Nicky J?”

Fury rounded on him, biting his lip in anger. “You call me that one more time and I promise you Stark, no matter how many suits or gadgets you builtd no matter how many high tech satellites you have floating up in the atmosphere, when I get through with you, ain't nothing or nobody _ever_ going to find the body.”

Tony quickly removed his hand. “Fair enough. So you, _Director Fury_ , hired her to be your internal eyes and ears in your HQ. Maybe they wanted to get rid of her so she wouldn't find any other sleeper agents that could be hiding in the woodwork. Or even to simply have one of theirs take her place so to access all Agent Gray's files to know what SHIELD knows.”

“No,” Natasha instantly interjected. “That doesn't make sense. They would have sent someone with more experience for a long term mission. The fact that this woman doesn't know anything about her own mission says they put her here merely to buy them time. They wanted Marcy, not someone to take her place.”

“So that leaves the second option,” Tony then said. “The woman mentioned a laboratory? Chances are Hydra wants her for the same reason your science guys want her.”

“Hydra's trying to make one last push,” Natasha said, slightly alarmed at the idea.

“One last gasp for air,” Fury agreed, “trying to create an army of invisible soldiers to take us out.”

Steve clenched his fists at the grim possibilities. If Hydra got what they wanted, SHIELD would be facing a massive invasion from an invisible foe. But more likely, the formula would continue to be a failure, as it had been with SHIELD for nearly 60 years. And with that, Hydra would either continue to experiment on her until she died, or get fed up and kill her. Either way, the clock was not ticking in Agent Gray's favor. They had to find her.

* * *

 

Marcy continued to shiver silently on the table as another bag of blood was removed from her. Her body temperature continued to drop from the lack of plasma. Being strapped to a cold metal table in a chilly room wearing nothing but her underwear did not help matters at all.

“You have been very cooperative so far, Agent Gray,” said the man in the white lab coat standing above her.

Marcy ignored him. They could take all the blood they wanted. It wouldn't do them any good. It never did anyone any good.

“You don't recognize me, do you, Marcy?”

That caused the agent to glance the man's way, but she said nothing. Running her mouth wasn't going to help her right now.

“Of course, you were a little girl when we first met,” the man went on. “SHIELD didn't allow the kind of... agencies afforded me here. Those were different times.”

Marcy furrowed her brows, but said nothing. She didn't recognize this man, not from her childhood or any other time. He was probably trying to mess with her head and she refused to allow it. Though, at the same time, his words made a heaviness grow in the pit of her stomach.

“Now, Marcy,” he continued in a horrible, calm tone. “I am going to require some further cooperation on this next part. We would now like you to go invisible while we take the next group of blood samples.”

Marcy set her jaw firm and looked away. They already had as much cooperation as they were going to get out of her.

“I figured as much,” the man continued, unconcerned. “Fortunately, I am no longer with SHIELD, which means I am allowed to resort to my own devices to reach the desired results.”

The man moved away and Marcy's heart began to patter in her chest like a moth caught in a jar. She breathed deep, fists clenched and trembling, trying to steel herself for what was next to come. He returned with a generator, scooted over on a wheeled table.

The device turned on with an electric whir. Two metal rods were plugged into the machine and the man held one in each hand. He showed them to her, tapping them together. Sparks of energy crackled between them and Marcy knew this was going to hurt.

* * *

 

Deeper into the complex, hallways of concrete and steel wound their way through various rooms. Hydra agents wandered the halls and guarded certain entrance ways. But near the back, far from any exits, the rooms were smaller, darker, less guarded.

In one room in particular, the lights were dim when a form appeared from the ceiling and dropped soundlessly to the floor. There he crouched, muscles tensed and ready. Ears listened for the slightest sign of life: a shift, a breath. When he was certain he was alone and his entrance had not been detected, he pulled himself into an upright position.

Hours ago, the Hydra base had been abuzz with a new captive: a woman. That was all he knew about their guest. Most of her clothes had been removed and left in a heap in this back room. The figure carefully picked through the pile of discarded clothing, looking for answers.

As he searched, a soft cough escaped his throat and he froze to make sure no one had heard him, and then continued to root around the clothing. In the back pocket of a pair of slacks, he found a thin wallet. A SHIELD ID card identified the woman as an Agent Marcia Gray. Further inspection found little else but a folded photo.

He held it in his fingers, a picture of said agent sitting next to a man, his arm nearly draped over her shoulder. He was leaning in as if to whisper something to her and she was smiling. He stared at it for several moments. The blond man in the picture was so hauntingly familiar. Like the phantom image from a dream or some terrible deja vu.

Then, the lights outside flickered as an unsteady power surged through the building. He quickly put away his flashlight, pocketing the photo. Whatever was happening didn't seem to concern the Hydra soldiers as two walked calmly by the small room.

The lights flickered again at another power surge and the agonized scream of a woman floated up from the bowels of the base.

* * *

 

The entirety of SHIELD was on alert and on the move. One of their own had been taken and they were scrambling to find out what happened to her. Agents had been sent out around the country to investigate any possible Hydra base that could still be in use. So far, there had been zero results.

Time was running out. Upon the second day, they were entering the time frame where it was possible she could be shipped out of the country, or she could be dead. Border patrols were increased, all flights both commercial and non were carefully watched and sometimes searched. Still no evidence as to the whereabouts of the missing agent.

Captain Steve Rogers paced the conference room, eyes roving over the massive map hanging on the wall. The map indicated all possible locations where Hydra may hide a body for scientific experimentation. It also indicated which locations had already been searched. SHIELD was fast running out of places to look.

The heavy shadow of fatigue fell over him and Steve pushed it away with the shake of his head. It had been nearly 56 hours since he last slept. Not many had been sleeping the last two days. At least SHIELD had the integrity to ignore the DNR this time. When in the field, Marcy knew what she was getting into, she had the option to agree to the circumstances. This abduction was not her decision. She deserved all SHIELD's resources in order to find her.

But the longer they searched, the more hopeless it seemed. When left alone to pace and worry, Steve found his mind dropping to dark places. His wicked imagination would come up with all sorts of sick, sadistic ways she could be tortured right now. His anger would flare and then he would spiral down his own selfish path.

Yet another date unable to be met by serendipitous and complex circumstances. It was as if God was telling him he deserved no normalcy. Nor the affections of any woman. Whenever he asked a girl out, something went horribly wrong. Last time, he was the one who paid for it. This time, Marcy may just lose her life.

It was silly, he knew he was being ridiculous by thinking this way. What mattered was Marcy's safety, not his horrible track record with women. The truth was this didn't have anything to do with him at all. But he'd be damned if he didn't do his best to find her.

His eyes combed the map once more, as if trying to pull out a secret message that would give him all the answers.

“Marcy,” he whispered. “Where are you?”

* * *

 

Consciousness began to be a fleeting thing. Marcy had fought them when the torture first began. That first painful burst of electricity when the rod hit her stomach, she had put all her energy into resisting the urge to fade. It was a defense mechanism for her, something she did on instinct when she felt frightened or threatened so it took quite a bit of concentration to remain visible. The last thing she wanted to do was fade in front of this horrible man.

The second jolt caused her to black out for a few seconds. In that time, she didn't know if she had faded for a moment or not. But there were several more excruciating shocks to come.

Coming to consciousness the second time was when the nightmare truly began. Marcy awoke to one of her arms free from the straps. The man in the lab coat and a second person had it stretched out straight on a small table and were currently cutting it open.

Marcy screamed, attempting to fight them off as her blood flicked everywhere. More men in uniform ran in to hold her down. She was quickly injected with something that made it hard to move her limbs and fight back. Unfortunately, it didn't dull the pain any. She watched in horror as they cut a large square of flesh out of her arm, removing fat and muscle tissue with it. The nightmare continued when they moved down to cut another sizable piece out of her thigh. This time, while forcing the fade upon her with the electrical charge.

As electricity and pain surged through her body, she saw her own form flicker involuntarily in and out of fade mode. But they were far from finished with her. With limbs still feeling like lead, they were able to roll her on her side, tapping spinal fluid. The next thing they did was jab horrifically large needles into her thighs, sucking out samples of bone marrow. That, by far, hurt more than anything else she had been subject to. After a series of torturous screams, Marcy passed out again.

The next time consciousness found her, whatever fight Marcy had left in her was gone. Her arm and leg were bandaged where the tissue was extracted, but she was still barely clothed on a cold slab of steel. Everything hurt. Everything had been burned or cut or stabbed with needles. Now, she had an IV in her other arm, dripping fluids into her body. It was her only source of any sustenance as she had neither food nor water since her abduction. The lack of nutrition plus the pain left her weak and she wasn't sure if whatever they had given her was still in effect or if her body was just too spent to respond.

Her head lolled to the side, glassy eyes staring blankly at the way. Her skin was deathly pale, peppered with angry red burns, her lips blue. Her body shivered constantly and Marcy's emotional capacity for coping was shattered into a million pieces. Whatever Hydra wanted to do to her now, she could do little else but accept her fate and hope they would, instead, end her quickly and stop the suffering.

“Now, now, Marcy,” said the man in the lab coat. “This hasn't been that bad. Stop being so overly dramatic.”

Marcy remained where she was, staring blankly and shivering.

“I know you're stronger than this,” the man continued. “After all, you've always been my favorite patient.”

_My favorite patient..._

Marcy's eyes widened, her pupils dilating. In the back of her subconsciousness, she knew that voice has spoken those words to her before. She knew this man somehow. She had been strapped down at his mercy before this, she was sure of it. The memory was chilling and just at the edge of her recollection.

“Though I'm afraid you will not like this next part,” the man said, checking her IV. “Is she ready, nurse?”

A woman to the side checked the silent EKG machine, monitoring Marcy's heart. “Ready, Dr. Steadman.”

Dr. Steadman. She knew that name. How did she know that name?

Dr. Steadman came into her view once more and Marcy's eyes only followed slightly to catch his movement. Behind him, the wall-mounted camera with the constant red light no longer had the power light on.

“I'm so sorry, my dear,” the man said, holding up an electrical saw. Marcy shivered anew at the sight of it, heart fluttering, eyes wide. “But we all must make sacrifices in the name of science. And I must see what exactly goes on in that brain of yours. Don't worry, I am only removing the skull so we can see what's inside. You should live through this, but I highly suggest you don't squirm.”

The saw turned on with a sickening, horrific whir. Marcy could hardly even comprehend the horror coming toward her. No more. She couldn't take any more of being cut apart piece by piece. She prayed to God to just let her die. Let it be over, just let her die right now.

The electric blade descended hungrily toward her forehead. He was going to cut into her brain while she was still awake! Marcy couldn't even find the sense to close her eyes as fear swallowed her whole.

Then, like an angel summoned from heaven, something large and silent blocked out the glaring light above her. It slid from the ceiling, knocking the hanging lamp aside. A man landed on the table, a large boot standing on either side of Marcy's body.

Shocked, Dr. Steadman stared at the man, then lurched forward with the electric saw. The man caught his wrist easily, jerking backward and causing Dr. Steadman to cut his own throat. He collapsed with wide eyes and blood gushing, spraying bright red on Marcy's pale body as he fell to the floor.

The nurse present was already running for the door for help. The intruder pulled a knife from his belt. The blade sailed through the air, landing neatly in the middle of the nurse's back. She, too, fell to the cement floor, dead.

Marcy's traumatized brain was having trouble computing what just happened. Was she hallucinating now? Had the horror caused her to go mad? Was this merely a vision to protect her from what was to come?

The man jumped down to the floor, quickly unbuckling Marcy's restraints. He pulled out the IV and then lifted her head, forcing her to look him in the face. He seemed dirty and unkempt. Several days of thick stubble on his face and his brown, scraggly hair went to his shoulders and fell over dark, sunken eyes.

“Come on, you have to get up,” he said to her.

Marcy didn't move, she just continued to stare. Her brain didn't work, her muscles wouldn't respond.

The man lifted a hand, slapping her hard across the face. “Come on!” he growled. “If you want to live, you have to fight now! You have to get up!”

Marcy's eyes darted to the side as the over-hanging light reflected off metal. One of the man's arms was comprised entirely of shiny silver. Upon it was painted a red star. Marcy knew of stars. It made her think of other things, of Steve. He wouldn't give up at this point, neither should she.

Summoning whatever willpower still lingered within her, Marcy forced herself from the darkness. She demanded her limbs to move, even though they burned. She managed to sit up under her own power and her rescuer climbed upon the table.

“Good. Come on.”

He offered her a hand. Marcy reached for it shakily and he easily pulled her to her feet. He pressed her against his chest to help her stand and she clung to the blessed warmth of his body. It felt so good after so long in the cold.

“Get ready to climb,” he said in a low voice.

His hands settled on her hips and she was lifted into the air, into a hole in the ceiling, where a panel had been removed. The man with the metal arm did most of the work, hefting her up and pushing her into the ceiling. Marcy did her best to climb in, crawling forward as the man climbed in after her.

He paused to return the ceiling panel to its place, disguising their retreat. Then his larger body crawled over her, taking the lead.

“Come on,” he said, in an almost gentle way. “You have to do this yourself. I can't do this for you. You have to keep going.”

Marcy gritted her teeth and pulled herself forward. She followed her savior as best she could as he guided her through the darkness. The place was filthy and dangerous, full of sharp objects that cut into her skin, vermin droppings and fungal air. Her body was so weak by now, several times the man stopped to wait for her to catch her breath and give her screaming body a rest. Once they stopped while she dry heaved.

It seemed to take hours. Maybe it did. Marcy couldn't tell how time passed anymore. Once she was sure she even blacked out, but her body was still going, moving forward even as she gained consciousness. Everything hurt, her vision blurred, but she wasn't done fighting. She would follow this man until her body had lost all ability to propel itself forward. It was her only chance.

Finally, he paused to remove another panel from the ceiling and he dropped down out of sight. Marcy followed him into the opening, her body finally giving out half way and she fell like a rag doll out into the open air.

The man was there to catch her. He held her in his arms, pulling her body close to his chest and Marcy's exhausted mind told her it would be happy to remain here forever.

“I did it,” she said in a raspy voice.

In the dim light, she saw the man give just a ghost of a smile.

“Yes,” he agreed as blackness descended on her vision once again. “You did.”

 


	12. James

 

**Faded**

**Chapter Twelve: James**

 

_The metal of the table was so cold on her back, the leather straps biting into her wrists. She shivered in the sterile, metal room in just a white tank top and shorts. They said they just needed to run some tests on her, they said it wouldn't hurt._

_Where was her mother? Why couldn't she be in the room with her? The people had so many excuses for her questions. Marcy was starting to not believe them any more, even though she had been raised to always do what the adults told her. Something felt wrong here._

_“Hello, Marcy,” said the man in the white coat. “You have been so good so far. Just one more test and you can go.”_

_Marcy nodded quietly. The man in the white coat had a metal rod in his hand. The thing crackled with electricity._

_The man's voice oozed in a way that alarmed the young girl. “Good girl, Marcy. You have always been my favorite patient.”_

* * *

 

 

Marcy's eyes snapped open wide in fear. For a moment, she couldn't move her limbs. It was as if she were still strapped to that table. With a gasp, reality suddenly fell upon her and she could move once more. The chill from her nightmare faded away with the warmth of a heavy blanket draped over her. A moment later, her body began to feel the pain again. Everything hurt and she let out a shuttered breath.

A rough but gentle hand slid beneath her and cupped her head, raising it up.

“Drink this,” said the man who had rescued her.

A water bottle was tipped toward her lips. Though the water was warm, Marcy instantly jerked to life, sucking down the tepid liquid. Her throat burned and rejoiced at the renewed saturation. She couldn't guess how long it had been since she had any water.

“Easy, easy,” the male voice said gently as water ran down her chin. “It's not going anywhere, take it slow.”

Marcy took the bottle from him with the arm not wrapped in a bandage and slowed her desperate drinking when she had control of the water source.

“Can you sit up and eat this?” the man then asked, producing an army ration protein bar.

It took more effort than she was used to exerting on such a small task, but she managed to wiggle herself into a sitting position. The burns on her abdomen complained as she moved. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing would come out. After a few coughs, she managed to produce sound in a rough, smoker-like voice.

“I will eat anything you put in front of me, as long as it's food. I might even try to eat it if it's not.”

The man rewarded her with the side of his mouth ticking up slightly. “I'd call it barely food, but it will help you get your strength back.”

Marcy took the extended brick from him which looked like a plus-sized granola bar. She hungrily bit into it, stomach growling. The thing was dry and bland, like trying to eat cardboard, but she knew it was also full of the calories and nutrition her body badly needed by now, so she continued to eat.

Once satisfied that she could feed herself without assistance, the man sat himself at a desk nearby. Marcy quietly watched him, chewing on the dry protein bar. He wore some sort of nondescript commando gear, no clear allegiance on his person. He was fairly tall with dark brown hair that went past his chin and at least a few week's stubble on his face. He looked tired and well-worn, but Marcy didn't see him as any kind of threat.

And there was still that metal arm. What was the story behind that?

The room they were in was about the size of an average meeting room. There was a single cot on which Marcy lay, a few random boxes of supplies and an ancient looking table, dusty and dry, the legs cracking with age and disrepair. A single bulb above her head kept the room lit.

The walls were all thick cement and Marcy noticed with a bit of alarm that there was neither door nor windows in this place. For the first time she became aware of how stale the air was in here.

“Where are we?” she asked.

The man glanced her way. “Still inside the Hydra base.”

Marcy's brows furrowed in concern as she glanced around once more.

“Chances are they won't find us,” he continued. “This place was built in the 1940's and a part of it was sealed about 30 years ago when they made additions to the building. We're in one of the rooms they blocked up. I doubt anyone working here even knows of its existence. But we still need to keep the noise level low, just in case.”

Marcy still looked confused. “But why--”

“Are we still here?” the man finished for her. “Hydra has this whole place on lockdown since you disappeared. And with that little trick you do, every single thermal camera is online around every corner. If so much as a mouse farts out there, they're going to pick it up. So we're stuck here for a while.” The statement was punctuated with a few shallow coughs.

Marcy took a moment to let her current situation sink in as she swallowed another chalky bite of her ration bar. The empty gnawing in her stomach slowly began to subside.

“Can I ask who you are?” she said softly. “You're not from SHIELD, are you?”

The man frowned a little. “No, I'm not.”

“And you're not with Hydra.”

“No.”

“Then what are you doing here? Why did you save me?”

He continued to frown. “You ask a lot of questions.”

“Do you blame me?” she countered. “While I do very much appreciate the rescue...” She gestured at her surroundings and current situation.

“Point taken,” he admitted.

“You don't have to tell me about yourself if you don't want to. You don't owe me anything. If you'll just tell me where I am, I'll see about getting myself home. I won't bother you anymore.”

The man, who had only been glancing over his shoulder at her before, turned his body to face her. “Do you not expect me to help you get out of here?”

“While your help would be appreciated, I try not to plan for it. In my line of work, I can't count on someone else to pull my butt out of the fire when something goes wrong.”

As she spoke, Marcy pulled away the blanket to inspect herself. She was still only dressed in her mismatched bra and underwear, but that wasn't what concerned her. A hefty bandage was wrapped around her right thigh, the gauze soaked through with blood.

Bile instantly rose up in her throat as Marcy immediately felt sick. Her face went pallid, hand over her mouth as she quickly hid the horrifying sight with the blanket again. She tried not to think about how bad the wound was, how deep it cut. What was exposed that was never meant to be exposed beneath that bandage. The recollection of the feel and sound of the blades through her flesh made her want to throw up her meager meal.

As she tried to gain control of her precious stomach contents, the man moved to crouch down next to her, lightly touching her wrist to gain her gaze. Marcy turned, meeting his dark, haunting eyes.

“I promise you, you're not doing this alone,” he said to her. “I always finish what I start and I'm getting you out of here, okay?”

His face was only inches from her and Marcy swallowed. “Can I ask your name?”

He took his time to consider an answer. “You can call me James,” he finally said.

“Marcia Gray.”

Any response he was about to give was cut off with another series of coughs. This time, he coughed harder, the sound coming from deep in his lungs. Marcy noticed for the first time part of the darkness in his eyes came from the blue circles of sleeplessness and his entire complexion looked a little green.

“Are you okay?”

He waved her off, turning away. “I'm fine. Don't worry about it. It's just all the dust from the ceiling vents.”

She glanced at the ceiling. “That's how you've been getting around and avoiding the cameras. That's how we're going to get out of here.”

“It will only take us so far,” James reminded. “If we can make it outside, we'll still have a hard time getting off the property without being shot.”

“I will be just fine as long as I can get out of this building,” Marcy stated.

This time, he actually smirked at her. “Yeah, I saw what you can do in that lab. I'm sure you would be. As soon as you can crawl out of here under your own power, I'll show you the best way out.”

“Thank you, James. In the meantime, any chance I could get some clothes?”

A large black T-shirt was thrown at her and Marcy gratefully put it on despite the fact that it smelled like it hadn't been washed in weeks. Her bandaged arm protested at the movement, but Marcy tried to ignore it. She didn't want to think about the gaping holes in her flesh just yet. In truth, she knew if she did not clean them soon she could risk infection. For right now, she wanted to pretend they weren't a big deal for a little longer.

James then presented her with a similarly black pair of cargo pants. Even though they were much too big for her, Marcy still had trouble wriggling her wounded leg into them. That, coupled with the lack of nutrients her body had endured the past few days, had her panting and sweating before long. After successfully dressing herself, Marcy instantly fell asleep again, utterly exhausted.

* * *

 

 

She awoke to the sound of coughing: a deep, wet noise. James was found sinking against the wall as he fought to clear his lungs. Feeling a bit stronger than before, Marcy carefully slid over to him, patting his back to clear his airways.

James finally coughed up a large ball of phlegm and spat the yellow mucus into the corner. Marcy reached to touch his forehead--despite his immediate attempt to evade her. But Marcy stubbornly pursued until she was able to get a proper indication of his temperature.

“You've got a fever, you're sick,” she told him. “What do you want to do? Wait this out until we both feel better?”

He shook his head. “You ate the last of my rations.”

“And we're both in bad shape,” she admitted. “I'm taking you with me. We're both getting out of here.”

Though clearly unwell, he managed to look a little amused. “So you're getting _me_ out now? I thought I was saving you.”

She tried to stand up straight, stomach growling. Marcy wished there were more of those nasty rations. “We will get each other out, or we're both going to rot behind Hydra's walls and they'll never know it.”

James let out a raggedy breath standing with her. “It has been almost twenty hours. Without a single sign of you by now, they're going to start wondering if you haven't already escaped. Now is as good a time as ever to make a run for it, I suppose.”

He walked over to his desk, rifling through all the papers that were scattered about. Marcy leaned against the wall as she felt dizzy. Her leg hurt with the dirty pain of an old bandage. It had been at least 24 hours since the wrap had been changed. She should clean it and put on new gauze if she could. But Marcy still didn't have the stomach for it. She wished she was back at SHIELD so she could just close her eyes and let the doctors deal with the damage and she would never have to look at what that horrible man did to her.

She slowly came closer to James' side, fully aware of the proximity of that metal arm. It looked strong, like it could break her neck without much effort. While she wanted to trust him, her experience as a spy told her she should remain wary of him just in case he turned on her.

“This is the layout of the compound we're in,” James said, setting a building floor plan on top of the pile of papers. “And this is the series of ventilation shafts we'll use in the ceiling.” He placed a transparent piece of paper over the floor plan, now highlighting their tunnel routes with light green lines. “These blue X's are security cameras, the red ones are the thermal cameras.”

Marcy took a few moments to glance over them. James had been here for a while in order to map all this out. What had he been trying to do before he decided to rescue her instead? “The big question is, where do we go once we make it out of the building?”

James pointed to an area next to the compound. “We're at a hidden base in the middle of a forest. Here's the parking lot. We'll need to get a vehicle to have any hope of getting to civilization before the wilderness gets us first.” He glanced up at her. “I don't suppose you know how to hotwire a car?”

Marcy huffed. “I'll have you know, sir, I am a properly trained agent of SHIELD.” She smirked. “Of course I do.”

“Good. This doesn't get along well with other machinery.” He held up his metal hand.

Marcy burned inside to ask him about it, but remained quiet. There were far more important issues to deal with at the moment.

“Just where exactly are we?” she then asked. “Once we get that car, where do we drive to get out of here?”

“The northern part of the Rocky Mountains.”

“Rocky Mountains?!” Marcy squeaked. “That's half way across the country. That's going to be quite a road trip getting back home.” She paused. “Do you want to go on a road trip with me, James? We'll get some books on tape, some snacks.” She stopped again to look down at her borrowed clothes. “Crap, my wallet's gone. Do you have money for snacks?”

“I do,” he said, digging something out of his pocket and tossing it to her.

“Hey, this is mine,” she protested, rifling through her small wallet. Her ID and cash were still inside.

“Had to know who I was sticking my neck out for, Agent Gray.”

She frowned a little at the title. This was what being a SHIELD agent had gotten her. As she felt right now, she had half a mind to throw her ID in Fury's face and quit on the spot the next time she saw him. That is, if they managed to get out of here alive.

“So, this is our plan,” Marcy then announced, “we're just going to steal a car and book it as fast and as far as we can from here.”

“It probably won't be that easy,” James told her, hefting an impressive looking rifle onto his shoulder. “We'll need to be prepared.”

“Very nice. You don't happen to have something a little smaller for me, do you?”

Without pausing, he offered a handgun to her by the barrel. Marcy took it from him, along with a few extra clips, and tucked it all in to her pockets and the waistline of her pants. Then James gathered up what few first aid supplies he had and handed it all to her in a small black backpack.

Marcy silently strapped it on. She watched James as he gathered his maps and anything else he wanted to take. His metal arm glittered in the light of the single bulb. The black clothing silhouetted his broad shoulders, strong back and narrow waist.

Marcy knew she shouldn't, but she couldn't help but trust this man. For a moment, her foolish imagination considered the idea of running off with him and never returning home. Though, most likely he would drop her off the first place he could and continue solo, but that didn't mean she had to go home. What was she leaving in her old life anyway? The house of her dead mother, a career of spying on her coworkers for Fury, rash scientists who would continue to push her for more experimentation for their own gain.

But what about Clint? And Natasha? Those people who had always been on her side. Would it be fair to them to just disappear and never come back? What about Steve? She admittedly had the biggest crush on him and everyone else seemed to know. And he seemed to like her back, at least as a friend. And she would have been very satisfied with just his friendship, if nothing else. He had held her as she cried and told her he truly didn't mind. But was that enough to go back to?

James slid the desk out into the middle of the room, pulling Marcy from her inner thoughts. He stood on top of it and hefted a bag into the ceiling. While moving it out of the way to make room for the bodies coming next, James suddenly felt lightheaded. He swayed a little, losing his balance. He almost fell off the desk, but Marcy grabbed his legs steadying him.

“Hold it together,” she encouraged. “We can do this. Get me to a car and I promise you, I can get us out of here.”

James glanced down at her, only for a minute. He was afraid he would get dizzy again. His face felt far too warm for comfort; the fever was taking its toll.

“Is that right, Agent?”

“People who save my life can call me Marcy,” she said as she climbed up next to him. The two stood toe to toe, looking into each other's eyes. “And yes, that's right, James.”

Though his face was pallid, eyes dark circles, he managed a smile. His hands settled on her hips. “Then I will get you a car, Marcy.”

“ _We_ will get _us_ a car,” she corrected with a smile as he lifted her up into the ceiling.

He followed after her, leaving the light on in the room behind him. They would not be returning to this place and each was content to let it burn secretly until it went out.

Together they crawled through the darkness, James taking the lead. It felt as if he was going slower this time. She wasn't sure if that was because she and more strength now, or James' own condition was slowing him down, but she had the patience and the trust. She would follow him wherever he took her at the pace he set.

Again, it took time to reach their destination. They were careful to remain quiet and paused any time Hydra personnel passed below them. There were more armed guards wandering the halls than when Marcy had first escaped. Once, James paused, fighting back another round of coughs. His body shook with the effort of holding in the tremors. Marcy patted his ankle in support, waiting until he was ready to move again.

With time and patience, they made it to their destination. The covered parking garage was entombed in cement. They would have to reveal themselves to the hallway in order to get through the garage door.

There was one camera watching the doorway: thermal. All cameras guarding the exits were thermal. But it was facing down the hall in the anticipation that enemies would only come for it from that direction. Marcy faded, invisible to the eye, and dropped down silently from the ceiling next to it, out of the camera's view. If she were in front of it, the camera would see her anyway whether or not she was in fade mode, but this way made her feel safer.

James slid out after, handing down her bag with out a word, completely confident Marcy would catch it, despite being unable to see her. The bag hung suspended in the air as he landed with only the softest of sounds as his boots hit the floor. He remained hunched under the camera's view, typing in the access codes he had secretly watched Hydra personnel punch in time and time again.

The lock on the garage door turned green and James grabbed the bag hovering in the air, shouldering it.

“I'll check for cameras,” Marcy's voice said in his ear and the door opened slightly.

Unfortunately, James did not have a lot of information for this part of the building as he had never been inside it before. He did not know where all the cameras were and what kind they happened to be.

The door opened again from an unseen hand and Marcy's voice said, “There was only one at the door that I could see, no thermals. I'll take it offline, but that's going to bring guards to check it out.”

“Do it,” James replied. “I need to get out of this hall before a patrol walks by.”

“On it.”

James continued to crouch at the door. It had a small window and he could barely make out the camera if he peered through the side. He saw the red power light of the recording device and, after a few moments, the light flickered off.

Not waiting for any other sign, James pushed into the garage, locking the door behind him. As an after thought, he grabbed the handle with his metal arm and ripped it off. Hopefully, that would slow anyone down should they come after him.

The garage felt like a tomb with its low ceilings and concrete surrounding at every direction. James continued to crouch as he ran through the open area, wide eyes glancing over the vehicles parked in a neat little row. What would be the best to take? Which one would the girl be able to break into?

For a moment, James suddenly had a chill of complete abandonment. Wherever the invisible Marcy was, he couldn't feel her presence. She could easily run right out of here by herself and no one could stop her. He was the one dragging her down now, he was the one who would get them captured at this point. She would be smart just to leave him behind. Maybe she already had.

Then, she was suddenly in front of him, pointing to a silver four door. “That one. Break one of the back windows, not the front.”

James wasted no time in punching out the side window behind the driver seat with his metal hand. Marcy quickly unlocked the car, then ducked under the steering wheel and began to pull out and strip the wires.

A gunshot hit the side of the open door and James ducked, grabbing his gun as he flung his bag into the back seat.

“Well, that was fast,” Marcy mumbled. Louder, she said to James, “Keep them busy, I just need a few more seconds.”

There was a secondary door to the garage where three armed guards spilled in.

“Make it fast!” James shot back, unloading the smaller of his weapons at the enemies.

One man was shot in the head, falling to the floor. The other two quickly ducked behind cars, firing back. James crouched behind the car, returning fire as its tail lights were shot out. Two more guards ran into the garage. One was shot in the leg before he hardly made it through the door.

“Done!” Marcy cried with triumph as the car's engine roared to life.

James pulled out his larger rifle, poking his head over the car for a clear shot of where the Hydra agents had taken cover. Then suddenly, the dizziness hit him again. He fought to stay focused, but stumbled against the car for support. Marcy was instantly behind him, hands over his to steady his aim, her head right next to his to line up the shot.

“Pull the trigger,” she whispered.

Now, James didn't exactly have a full memory of his past, but he could have sworn that was the sexiest thing a woman had ever said to him. The skin at the back of his neck tingled and he fired. The aim proved true and an explosive shell landed among the enemy agents, eating up everything in its wake with fire.

That was their cue to go. Marcy scrambled into the driver seat while James ran around to the passenger side. As he ripped the door open to get inside, a pain shot through the flesh of his shoulder. He had been hit. He stumbled into the car, yanking the door shut behind him.

“Drive,” he said, clutching the wound.

Marcy had already slammed on the gas before he could give the order. The car tore backwards from its parking spot, then raced forward toward the exit. Up ahead, however, the metal door was already lowered, only a few inches of light peering out before it closed. They were too late. Even if they rammed the door, they may break it, but they would also total the front end of their car, most likely killing the engine upon contact. They were trapped.

“Seat belt,” Marcy said.

James glanced at her, wondering if desperation had caused her to lose her mind.

“Seat belt, now!” she barked and he quickened to comply.

The car didn't slow as it raced toward the closed metal door. Instead of ramming it nose first, Marcy turned the car in a wide arc, then she spun the wheel, simultaneously pumping the breaks. The car spun on its wheels like a top, ripping through the metal wall with a swipe of its heftier back end.

For a moment, James' world spun into a blur. Then the world righted itself and they were outside, still facing forward. He glanced behind them to see a lengthwise tear in the metal door about the size of their car.

“I told you I could get us out,” Marcy said as they sped off again.

“Just keep driving,” James shot back.

The door was already being raised again, though it was now having some problems because of the damage. Another vehicle managed to squeeze out after them, the metal door scraping their hood in a medley of sparks.

With his last ounce of control, James leaned himself out the passenger window and fired another explosive round at their pursuers. The car burst into flames, the upset sending all four tires momentarily off the ground. Other Hydra agents spilled out, but no more vehicles came after them.

Satisfied they would not be immediately followed, James sat himself back down, now taking the time to inspect his wounded arm.

Marcy gave him a sideways glance as she drove. “You okay?”

It was hard to tell how much blood he had lost in the black material he wore, but it didn't look too bad. “I should be fine, doesn't look too deep.”

“Wrap it for now. We'll take a look at it when we get some miles behind us and out of these mountains.”

James just sat there and sighed. He didn't have the strength to reach back for the first aid kit. All his reserves were gone. The fever, the sickness and fatigue were taking over and he had nothing left to give. In a few moments, he was out, head resting on his chest, metal hand still attempting to staunch the bleeding of his arm.

* * *

 

 

_Sounds. Everything heavy and deadly was falling apart around him. He was falling with it, toward water and oblivion and he hardly noticed. There was a far greater calamity tearing him up inside._

_“You know me,” said the voice that was so hauntingly familiar. Like a voice from childhood without face or form. And in the back of the darkness, two young kids from Brooklyn walked side by side, baseball gear in hand, jokes on their lips._

_But the anger burned red, blocking it all out. Frustration and rage boiled until there wasn't room for anything else and it exploded all at once._

_NO I DON'T!_

* * *

 

 

James startled awake with the opening of the car door. The phantoms of the past had dissipated, leaving him stripped with nothing but the present. He blinked in the dim light of the car's interior as Marcy leaned over him.

“We're done,” she said gravely. “Car's out of gas.”

James straightened in his seat, looking around. He stepped out to find they were still surrounded by trees in the middle of what could barely be called a road. Dusk was settling in, the trees casting long shadows.

“What the-- where are we?” he demanded. “We should have been in the city by now!”

“I know! I know! I tried,” Marcy shot back, frustration clear in her voice. “There's no road signs anywhere. I thought I was getting us off the mountain, but maybe I took a wrong turn. And the tank was nearly empty when we took it.”

“Why didn't you wake me?” he asked in irritation. “I could have told you where to go.”

“You were sick, you got shot. You needed rest.” Her voice was cracking a little now. “I was trying to look out for you. I thought I could do it by myself. I'm sorry.”

She leaned against the car, forehead resting in her palm. She looked like she had been stressing over her multiple wrong turns for a while now while James had rested peacefully unaware.

He breathed out to calm himself. He was still sick, his arm throbbed, but they had to take care of this situation whether he had the energy or not.

“So what do you want to do now?” he asked.

Marcy didn't hesitate and he was impressed by that.

“Grab your stuff. We need to hide the car, push it off the road. Hopefully, I got us so lost that Hydra is looking for us down the roads a smart person would drive.”

James couldn't help but huff a little in amusement. Marcy put the car in neutral and together they sent it down the ravine and did their best to cover up any evidence a car had ever gone through the foliage. As they worked, it wasn't lost on Marcy that her companion still wasn't doing too well. He seemed weak and tired.

Once finished with their task, James bent down to retrieve his bag. He winced as pain shot up his arm, his head was still swimming a little as well.

Marcy swooped in and grabbed the bag for him, slinging it over her shoulder.

“Come on,” she said, leading the way down the path with a heavy limp.

“And where are we going?” he asked. Another bout of dizziness hit him and he stumbled back, letting a tree catch him. He tried to pretend he hadn't lost his balance, but it was a poor performance.

Marcy carefully threaded her arm around his waist. She could feel the heat radiating from his body. The fever was eating him alive. “Just come down this road with me, and then you can rest.”

The wasn't any argument left in him and the taller man allowed her to lead on. Night hadn't completely settled upon the forest yet, but the trees and the mountain ridges blocked out much of the sun's light long before it had finished setting.

In the dimness, the forest parted through the path and a log cabin revealed itself, settled in a grove of trees. It was the only good bit of luck they had and James did not give her anymore lip as Marcy practically pulled him up the stairs and kicked down the locked door. Stepping inside, she immediately noticed a light switch and flicked it on. The living room was instantly flooded with light.

“We are the luckiest idiots alive,” she breathed as she looked around.

This wasn't any old, dusty hunter's shack. This was a vacation cabin, fully furnished, with electricity and, hopefully, running water.

Marcy immediately went to work, zeroing in on the couch and happily finding it was a fold-out bed. Once there was a place to lay down, she retrieved Jame's listless form from where he leaned against the door frame. He looked as if the wall was the only thing keeping him on his feet.

“Come on, almost there,” she said as she gently guided him toward the bed.

He flopped onto it with a grunt and Marcy considered taking his boots off for him, but she knew just because they had found this place, it didn't mean they were safe. They still had to be ready to run if they were discovered.

Instead, she went into the kitchen and thanked her lucky stars when water came out of the faucet. It was cold water that never warmed, but it was certainly better than nothing. She returned with a glass of water and some expired Ibuprofen she found to help with his fever. Then she brought a bowl of water and a cleaning cloth while James coughed weakly on the bed.

With a knife her sick companion provided from one of his many pockets, she cut away the sleeve from his arm to see the damage. The bullet had gone clear through the skin and luckily had not hit the bone. James lay there obediently, eyes closed as she cleaned and dressed the wound.

By the time she was finished, Marcy assumed her patient had fallen asleep. His eyes were closed and the only movement was the rise and fall of his chest, peppered with a few weak coughs. For several minutes Marcy watched him by the light of a nearby lamp, observing the light and shadow playing on the man's features.

Her eyes roamed over the heavy brow and the sharp nose, his rough stubble and the sunken eyes. Her gaze fell to the strong arm, muscles banded in gauze, then the rest of his black clad form. What was this man doing lurking in Hydra's ceiling in the middle of a forest? What was he after? And why did he suddenly give it all up for her?

The familiar ache of her own leg and arm brought Marcy back from her musing. The dull pain of her mutilated limbs were merely background noise until now. She knew she would have to change the bandages soon or risk infection.

Leaving the sleeping man behind, Marcy retreated into the kitchen for fresh water to tend to herself. She was really not looking forward to this, she would rather be by herself. She never liked showing weakness around other people, even if they were passed out in the other room.

Deciding she would tackle the leg first, she carefully shimmied out of the oversized black pants and sat herself down on a kitchen chair. She unwrapped the gauze from her thigh and then stared at the medical pad stained in red. The fluids from the wound had already seeped into the material, pasting the gauze to her exposed flesh.

It was a slow, painful process to moisten the bandage and gently coax it away from the raw wound. As more of the rectangular hole on her leg was revealed, she thought she was going to be sick again at the sight of the puckered red and fatty yellow flesh. Tears stung her eyes the more damage she exposed; pity for herself, frustration that she could not stop this from happening to her.

“Marcy.” James called from the other room. “Marcy?”

She swallowed, trying to keep the weakness out of her voice. “Yeah?”

Silence from the living room and then James stepped into the kitchen. Marcy quickly looked away in shame, wiping the wetness from her eyes.

“You should be sleeping, you need to rest,” she said.

He pulled out a chair, sitting across from her. “I don't really sleep well. I think that car ride was the first time I've ever slept more than an hour straight. Maybe it was good you got us lost.”

She smiled weakly at him. “Yeah, you've now found a way to get some good sleep, just have someone drive you around all night.”

“Or maybe it's just having someone I trust nearby that helps me sleep.”

Silence followed.

“I'm nearby,” Marcy said quietly. “Why can't you sleep?”

“I can't tell you're safe if you're hiding in the kitchen,” he answered back in the same low tone.

Marcy remained silent, but internally she found the comment very sweet.

“That's quite a hole they left in you,” James continued as he nodded to her wounded leg. “I'd help you bandage it if I could but-” He paused, closing his eyes as his head swam with pain and dizziness. He let out a soft groan that was barely more than a rush of air.

“Yes, and how romantic that would be,” Marcy said in a pragmatic voice. “But you really need to get back in bed. I'll bring this stuff into the living room if you promise to lay down, okay?”

“You're treating me like a child,” he lightly complained as he stood.

“It's like trying to get a child to stay in bed,” she responded, gathering up all her medical supplies.

After a while, James was back on his fold-out mattress while Marcy camped out on the floor, still nursing the gaping hole in her thigh. Once revealed, it was about six inches long and four inches wide. There wasn't much she could do for a wound like that but lightly drip water over it with a painful hiss and then wrap it up in clean bandages.

She was perspiring by the time she had finished with the leg. There was still an arm to go.

“We never did get that road trip you proposed,” a male voice said softly.

Marcy frowned a little at the fact that James still wasn't asleep. “Yeah, sorry.”

“I would have liked to go on one,” he said, staring at the ceiling.

“Yeah,” she agreed quietly. “Just give it all up. Leave Hydra and SHIELD behind and we'd just drive until we hit sandy beaches and stay there for the rest of our days.”

James smiled weakly, his skin still pale in the dim light. Tendrils of dark hair clung to his fevered forehead. “That sounds nice.”

“Though there may be no more swim suits for me after this,” Marcy lamented, rubbing her leg.

James glanced at her. “I wouldn't mind how it looks.”

She smirked. “How about you wear the bikini and I'll take the board shorts?”

He chuckled which evolved into a few more weak coughs. “Hydra will probably find us here,” he then said.

“Maybe.”

Silence again.

“It was because of the picture,” he then confessed.

“I'm sorry?” Marcy asked, confused.

James pulled out a folded photograph from his pocket. “I saved you because of the picture and because I know what it's like to be strapped to a table.”

Marcy took it from him, finding the photo to be the one of her and Steve from the karaoke bar. The people in the picture suddenly felt like they were from a completely alien world. The girl with Marcy's form didn't feel like it was her at all. She lightly touched Steve's smiling face.

“Is he your boyfriend?” James asked.

Marcy was suddenly embarrassed to be carrying such a picture around like a fawning idiot.

“Um, no. He's a friend of mine. I just... like the picture. There were a lot of people there. It was taken after my mother's funeral and we were all just sort of honoring her: singing her favorite songs, singing ours. Having a good time like she would have wanted us to.”

“Sorry for your loss.”

Marcy nodded quietly. After a while, her gaze raised from the photo in her lap to the bed. Her eyes rested on the metal arm; that red star glittering in the lamp light. He had been strapped to a table, too. Marcy had a feeling that arm wasn't put there at his request.

“Can I... do you mind if I touch it?” she asked quietly.

James was silent for a moment and Marcy thought she had offended him.

“That's fine,” he finally said.

She gingerly reached out, lightly appraising the star with the pads of her fingers. Then she trailed them down, marveling at the workmanship as the metal curved gracefully in the form of a human arm. The trail ended at the back of his hand where it rotated to intermingle her fingers with his.

“Can you feel that?” she asked curiously.

“It's not the same, but I can tell your touch is there,” he said quietly.

She took his hand in hers, gripping it. “I'll still be here, even if you close your eyes.”

James did close his eyes with a sigh that released tension from his spent body. He meant to close them just for a while. He didn't want to sleep yet. He wasn't through watching the woman next to him with her soft, vandalized skin as she attempted to repair what parts of her she could. But his plans were derailed the minute he closed his eyes. Darkness took a quick hold and he slipped away.

* * *

 

 

_There that man was again, waiting in his dreams with that unbending brow, blood trickling from his lip. He had seen that stubborn look on that man's face so many times before._

_“You know me.”_

_“NO I DON'T!”_

_His fist collided with the man's face, marring his perfect looks. His head jerked back, blond hair catching the light. But the hit wasn't satisfying, merely more frustrating. James hit him again, blood spattering the blue suit, the white star on his chest._

_It still didn't help, it didn't make him feel any better, no matter how many times he hit his enemy. It only made his chest hurt worse. This was because it was all a lie, a horrible lie he kept telling himself. The man in the picture with the woman named Marcy, the man who took every blow without complaint was the same person. And James knew him. Deep down, he knew exactly who this man was and what he meant to him._

_“You know me. You've known me your whole life.”_

_He told himself he knew nothing; nothing but the mission. Even as he pulled the man's body from the river, even as he left him unconscious on the bank. He wouldn't let himself remember. The lie was easier, the lie hurt less and he wasn't ready to let go of it._

* * *

 

 

James awoke to the peculiar sound of twittering birds. Out the window, the sun was bright, its summer warmth seeping in through the glass. Sitting up with a start, he stared at the window. Had he actually slept all night long? With as early in the evening as they found the cabin, he couldn't have fallen asleep any later than eleven. How many hours of rest could that have been? At least eight or nine. He felt better than he had in days. The headache and fever were gone. The congestion in his chest still clung to him, but was hardly more than a nuisance. Then, just when he thought his morning would be perfect, then came the chill. It came like the return of a cantankerous neighbor. Annoying, but familiar and something James was used to dealing with.

Marcy was still asleep, curled up on a chair, his rifle next to her. She stirred as James passed by, digging through the bag at her feet. As her eyes opened, she saw James pull out a thick jacket and shrug it on.

“Still have a fever?” she asked in a rough, sleepy voice.

“No, I feel fine, actually,” he answered. “But I just have these days where I can't get warm, even in the middle of summer.” He turned and smiled down at her. It was a smile that made Marcy again consider leaving everything behind and following wherever this man took her. “It's nothing to worry about.”

“Will you tell me what you were doing at Hydra?” Marcy then asked as she matched his smile. “I'm dying to know.”

His mouth dropped into a bit of a frown and he shrugged. “That's the thing, I don't know. Hydra gave me this arm, but they took other things.” He sighed. “They took a lot of things. I didn't have anywhere else to go, but I kept hoping if I followed them enough, learned from them enough, I'd get some answers. But unfortunately, this,” he nodded to his arm, “and this,” he pointed to his head “are not very compatible with machinery or computers. I haven't been able to get into their files.”

“Why don't you come to SHIELD with me? I'm sure they have information that may help you.”

James immediately took a step back. SHIELD was where HE was, and James was not ready to face the man with the stubborn brow and sad blue eyes.

“No, I'm not going there,” he said darkly.

Marcy thoughtfully tapped a finger on her bottom lip and then got up to the kitchen. She fiddled around in a few drawers until finding a pen and a pad of paper. The pen was barely working, but she managed to scratch out the information she wanted.

“Here,” she said, handing the paper over to James. “Here is somewhere you can go.”

He looked at the address, a location outside of New York City. “What's this?”

“My house. You are welcome here if you ever need a place to go. Even if it's just for good night's sleep and a hot meal.”

James took it, tucking it into one of his many pockets. Then he looked her over if she herself were a hot meal and Marcy felt her face grow warm as his voice vibrated over her.

“I'll keep that in mind.”

The statement was punctuated by bullets as they pierced the window, causing both of them to drop to the floor. As they hit the ground, they locked eyes and each knew their fate. Hydra had found them.

James grabbed the bag, the rifle too far out in the open to reach. They crawled to the back of the kitchen and the back door as bullets continued to sail in through the broken windows. The familiar hiss of a launched rocket reached their ears. It tore into the cabin, exploding in the middle of the living room.

For a brief second, Marcy felt Jame's arms around her, trying to protect her from the blast. The next second, she was laying face down in the dirt, a flaming cabin several yards from her. Her ears rang and the lack of sound seemed to slow everything down. She struggled to get to her feet, but her limbs felt uncoordinated. She tried to fade, but it was as if the blast had caused her body to forget how to do it. She must have hit her head when she fell, maybe she had a concussion.

James was nowhere to be found. Where had the blast sent him? Was he dead? She had to move now or she would join him. Forcing herself to her feet, she raced for the cover of the trees. Only a few steps, however, and a bullet ripped through her side. She fought to keep running, but it was as if the puncture had let out all the pressure from her body, like a leaky balloon. She stumbled to the ground, pain ripping through her.

She rolled over in the dirt, clutching her bleeding side as armed Hydra agents stalked toward her. This was it. They would not kill her here, but take what was left of her her back to the lab and cut her apart piece by piece. She preferred death. If only she could get them to kill her now before she had to live through anything worse. That was her last wish.

As the soldiers came for her, she lay flat on the ground, watching the sky above the treetops. The sky was so blue today, the sun so warm. Was there any power out there above the trees that would hear her prayer? _Don't let them take me alive, please. Anything but that._

Above her, clouds gathered; very unnaturally fast for clouds. She squinted at the sky even as Hydra agents hovered over her, their weapons pointed her way. Then the clouds parted as an arrow-like form shot through them; something that raced toward Earth at an alarming speed.

Even the Hydra agents had noticed now. They stared at the sky as the object continued to fall, aiming right for them. They scattered as the thing impacted with a force that sent shock waves in all directions.

Marcy closed her eyes as the energy sent a gust of wind over her. When she opened them again, he was standing over her, eyes fixated on the enemy. In his hand was the ever-present  Mjolnir, another ridiculous red cape adorning his shoulders. 

At the appearance of Thor, the Hydra agents opened fire. Marcy had a hard time keeping track of what was going on by now. She had lost a lot of blood and she drifted in and out of consciousness as she heard the ricochet of bullets on metal and a lot of startled cries and groans.

The next time she came to, Thor was kneeling over her, ripping his cape. He wrapped the strips of red material around her midsection to staunch the bleeding as she grunted in pain.

“Fear not, fair Marcy,” the Asgardian said to her in a gentle voice. “Thor is with you, as was my vow to you.”

“Lucky me,” she groaned as he pulled the wraps tighter.

“I am sure others will be to your aid shortly. SHIELD is usually well aware when I enter Midgard.”

Marcy closed her eyes, feeling so tired and hurt in more than just her body. “Must I go back to SHIELD? Why can't I just let it end here?”

“Now, now,” Thor countered jovially. “You are just saying that because you've had a bad day and are... gravely wounded.”

“What about James?” she then asked. “Is he okay?”

Thor blinked at her. “I am afraid I am unfamiliar with this person. Where might I find him?”

Darkness was coming for her and she could not fight it off. “He helped me. I have to... find him...”

And with that, oblivion wrapped around her and she was unaware of what happened next.

* * *

 

 

Steve tried to keep his attention to the book in his hands. It would be so easy in such a quiet room. The only sound was the rhythmic beeping from the EKG machine. The woman in the bed next to him slept soundly, newly released from her surgery. The surgeon was able to repair the bullet hole in her side with little complication. The large chunks that were taken out of her arm and leg were another matter. The doctors were already talking skin grafts after Marcy had a few days to heal from her initial trauma.

The fact that Marcy was even in this bed alive was nothing short of a miracle. If Thor hadn't dropped out of the sky when he did, they never would have found her. The moment he dropped from the sky, SHIELD satellites were right on top of him and they immediately dispatched agents to the area. The compound where Marcy was being held was found soon after, but Hydra had already packed up everything, scrubbing their systems. They were gone and left no trail behind.

All they left was a torn garage, a flaming cabin and Marcy barely alive. Steve had been livid when he had been informed just how much damage had been inflicted on her. With so many underground and not so underground science departments still desperate to recreate the super soldier serum used on him, it could have just as easily been him on that table, people in white lab coats cutting him away piece by piece. And as hard as they looked for her, Steve had not been of any help to her at all and that set him on edge the most.

Thor had reported Marcy mentioned another person with her before she passed out, but there was no sign of anyone other than those Hydra agents downed by Thor's hammer. Whomever it was, Steve hoped this person had managed to get away- if they existed at all and was not a product of Marcy's wounded hallucinations.

For now, they would have to wait until she woke up to get further answers as to what had transpired during her disappearance.

As Steve tried once again to focus on the next paragraph, a soft sound from the bed caught his attention. Marcy's eyes fluttered open, then remained fixated on the white ceiling. After a few moments, they darted around the room, slowly taking in the place where she now found herself.

“Marcy,” Steve said softly, directing her attention to the side of the bed.

A smile brightened her face when she saw him, a wide, unfettered smile, like a child full of wonder.

“Steves,” she said, voice full of adoration.

“Yes, but, it's just Steve,” he corrected.

“Steeeeeeves,” she insisted lazily.

He smiled at her. “They must have you on some really good drugs.”

Marcy gave a slow, drunken laugh. “I feel nothing. Like my whole body is a marshmallow floating in a river.”

“That makes no sense whatsoever, but I'm glad you're not in pain. Oh, I brought you something.”

Steve fiddled with a bag on the floor and returned to her sight with a familiar teddy bear dressed in a certain red, white and blue outfit.

Marcy suddenly looked like she just saw a dear friend she hadn't seen in years. “Captain A-bear-ica,” she cooed, taking the plush toy. She cuddled it to her cheek. “I love this, it is favorite.”

Steve chuckled. It was so good to hear her voice again, see her face. The longer she was gone, the greater the chance he would never see her again. Being in her medicated presence was like a balm to a festering wound.

“You, too, Steves,” Marcy then added, watching him with starry eyes. “You are also favorite.” She drunkenly patted his face with her full palm.

“Favorite what?” he asked.

“She lives!” Clint announced as he burst into the room. “It's a miracle!”

Marcy grinned at her new visitor. “Clints! It is you!”

“It IS me! Good job! I knew my girl could get out of any place those asshats could hide you.”

Natasha came in with Bruce in tow, moving to the other side of the bed. “Heard you got shot in the gut. Now we match.” She held up the hem of her shirt, showing the large scar in her side. “Like twins.”

“Twins!” Marcy smiled, but the mirth had left her face. “It's not fun .”

“No, it's not,” the redhead agreed in a softer tone.

Behind her, Bruce waved and mouthed a silent “Hey.”

She smiled back at him, letting her head drop to her pillow. Whatever lovely haze the drugs had put her in seemed to be wearing off. Marcy gazed up at the ceiling, brows drawn. Those around her could see the weight of her thoughts as she recollected what had happened to her the past few days. Her eyes blinked slowly in fatigue. None of her friends had the heart to ask her what happened just yet.

“A man helped me escape from the base. He was sick. They shot him in the arm. He protected me when the cabin exploded. Did anyone find him?”

The agents all looked at each other. The only other bodies found were dead or unconscious Hydra agents. No one else recovered fit that description of injuries.

“Who was this person?” Steve asked with concern. “Was he another prisoner of Hydra?”

Marcy closed her eyes, the drugs and her injuries taking hold again. “We were going to drive and drive until we reached the beach and never... come... back.” She drifted back into unconsciousness, sleeping soundly.

 

 


	13. Where the Broken Things Go

**Faded**

**Chapter Thirteen: Where the Broken Things Go**

 

He lay there on the fold-out couch in the cabin. A fire crackled in the fire place, the only source of light. She came to him silently, dressed in her bra and panties. This time, she was wearing a nice black pair that actually matched.

He sat up on his elbows as she approached him, his muscular chest bare, his metal arm glittering by firelight. Their eyes locked as she crawled onto the bed, her thighs straddling his. One hand touched his quivering stomach and he sucked in a quick breath. This time in the cabin was far better than the last. This time, they were not running for their lives. She was no longer burned and cut to pieces, her skin now smooth with a healthy glow. He, too, was well and alert, and both of them wanted to be there.

Still holding his gaze, Marcy reached up to run her fingers through his thick, dark hair. It was soft and not dirty at all from all his hiding at Hydra. They kissed and his mouth felt good, tasted good. He ran his kisses to her jaw and down her neck, finding the crux of her shoulder. His rough stubble on her sensitive skin ruffled her feathers in an electric, restless way and Marcy clung to him.

James now had a hold of her, his hands gripping her thighs, yanking her closer to him. His body stirred beneath her and Marcy shivered in need and delight. His hands roamed her back now, the flesh one hot while the metal was icy cold, and she loved it.

Their bodies moved together and Marcy gasped, her eyes flying open.

Suddenly in her sterile, white reality, Marcy was disappointed to find it had all been a dream. There had been no steamy night alone in the cabin with her savior. She was still in a hospital bed, gross and incomplete, with only her horrible, mean subconscious to tease her.

God, she needed a man. This was too pathetic, having these kind of dreams about someone she hardly knew. She sighed loudly, disgusted with herself.

“Marcy.”

She froze, her eyes darting to the side. There sat Steve Rogers, only a few feet away from her. He was still here? Her brows rose high into her hairline as she suddenly felt like she and her dirty dreams were caught red-handed.

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine,” she said quickly, eyes still wide.

He furrowed his brows at her. “You sure? Why do you look so... guilty?”

“No reason.”

“You probably still have some drugs in your system.”

“Yes!” Marcy announced emphatically. “That is exactly it!”

“Okay, then...”

They lapsed into a slightly uncomfortable silence. Marcy tried to sit up and winced in pain.

“Not enough drugs,” she lamented.

Steve stood to help her, propping a pillow at her back. “Careful, the doctors want you to take it easy for a few days.”

Marcy just made a face as she squirmed around a bit, checking how much movement she had before she felt pain.

“First time being shot?” Steve asked.

“Yeah, actually. Usually they can't see me to shoot at me.”

“I got shot a little while back. Right through the back and out the front.”

“And how long did that slow you down? A week? Maybe two?” Marcy asked.

He smirked at her. “Maybe two and a half.”

“Lucky for you.” Her hand floated up to self-consciously rub her arm. When she found it still bandaged, she dropped that idea.

“I'm sorry this happened,” Steve said, looking at the bandage.

“Yeah,” Marcy sighed. “Me, too.”

“We should have found you sooner. We should have done something more to help you.”

Marcy tentatively shifted from side to side, testing how much motion the bullet wound allowed. This was the thing that was going to keep her in the hospital the longest and she was determined to get out of there as soon as she could. She was quite done with doctors and sterile rooms. She just wanted to go home and sleep in her own bed with her cat. And maybe go back to that dream...

“Don't worry about it, Steve. I know you guys tried to find me. I'm used to getting myself out.”

Steve frowned a little. “I don't like hearing you say that.”

“It's true. If I need saving, I usually have to do it myself. If I sit back and wait for someone else to come, I'm going to die. That's my reality.”

“It shouldn't be,” he insisted.

She sighed as she leaned back on her pillow, looking him in the eyes. “I don't like that you feel sorry for me.”

He leaned his elbows on the bed. “I don't. I'm sorry you got hurt. It's not the same as feeling sorry for you.”

Marcy watched him through narrow eyes, clearly unconvinced.

“You don't believe me,” he accused.

“If it's not pity, then it's some personal guilt that's kept you camping by my bedside. It feels like Romania all over again.”

Steve furrowed his brows. “Why do you think I would only be here out of guilt? We're friends. I care about what happens to you.”

“So do Clint and Natasha. They haven't been living at my bedside this entire time.” She glanced at the pile of books and snacks that clearly suggested Steve had spent a good amount of time there. “I don't understand why you're doing this. Why are you even here?”

“I asked you out.” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he thought about it.

She opened her mouth for a quick retort, suddenly processed what he said and closed it again. After thinking a moment, she replied, “What?”

“Well, it wasn't you. It was the impostor Hydra put in your place.”

“Wait, they put someone in my place, pretending to be me?”

“But I figured it out when I went to pick you up for dinner. I knew that person wasn't you.”

“... You were going to take me to dinner?”

“If the real you had said yes.”

“Of course I would have said yes! I would have said yes a million times!” Now it was Marcy's turn to blurt out without thinking.

The two stared at each other as the sudden realization of what was going on between them hit them both. Marcy clutched the blanket tight in her fists, processing it all as her heart picked up. Steve watched her hands, thinking about putting his on hers as he opened his mouth to speak.

Nick Fury walked into the room .

“No. Out,” Marcy ordered of the director, pointing a finger at him.

“The hell?” Fury demanded. “I came to talk to--”

“I'm in the middle of a very important conversation, _Nick_ ,” Marcy insisted with strained emphasis. “Just give me a few minutes.”

The way she said it amused Steve. He grinned down at the bed.

“I'm sorry, but I don't have a few minutes. I've got important shit to do, _Agent_ ,” Fury barked back. Marcy sighed and let him have his way. Hopefully this would be quick and Steve would stick around so they could finish this train of thought.

“Okay, what?”

“What do you mean, 'what?'” the director demanded. “You disappeared for several days! Tell me what the hell happened to you!”

Marcy breathed out through her nose loud enough to hear. She really didn't want to talk about it yet. “I don't remember how they caught me or how I got there. They kept me drugged. The only thing I remember is waking up on a metal table in a lab. There was a man there.” She paused, the faint whisper of a memory niggling at her brain as she recalled him. “He talked to me like we had met before. Steadman. A Dr. Steadman.”

“Steadman?” Fury said, surprised.

Marcy didn't notice as she continued. She wanted to quickly get through it. “He cut me up; took out all the pieces.” She motioned to her bandages.

“Why did they burn you?” Steve spoke up.

The sudden question surprised her. It took her a moment to fumble for the answer. “The shock of the electricity forces me to fade. I don't have any control over it. They would shock me while taking samples: hair, skin, spinal fluid, bone marrow. I'm not sure what all they took. They almost cut my brain open, but then someone saved me.”

“Yes, you said some guy was there with you,” Fury confirmed. “Who was he? Was he with Hydra? Was he their captive as well? Where did he come from?”

“I don't really know. He didn't want to tell me anything about himself. I think... he lived in the ceiling.”

Steve and Fury looked at each other.

“Agent, are you sure you didn't imagine this person?” Marcy opened her mouth to counter, but Fury kept going. “No one else saw or found any evidence of him. Sometimes, when people go through trauma like this, their minds come up with ways to help them deal with their situation and survive. Is it possible you got yourself out of Hydra? You've done it many times before.”

That was all it took, and suddenly Marcy was questioning her own recollection. She _was_ drugged constantly. Not just at her abduction, but also while on the table to keep her more compliant while they tortured her. Had she been so completely broken, her mind came up with an imaginary savior?

Did she break out of her prison by herself? Did she crawl through the circulation ducts on her own? Steal a car and sleep in the cabin alone? But who had given her clothes? Maybe she found some. No one else hotwired the car. No one else did the driving. No one else saw this man, not even Thor who had been there moments after the explosion. Maybe she had been by herself the entire time.

The man had a metal arm. She suddenly wanted to tell them that, as if it would prove she wasn't hallucinating. But then she felt stupid for thinking such a thing. People didn't have metal arms. Of course she made it up. The star on his arm reminded her of Steve; _he_ reminded her of Steve. Her subconscious just so badly wanted someone, wanted him, to save her this time. Maybe that illusion was the only way she could find the strength to survive.

“It... it's possible,” she admitted, picking at the blanket. “It's all such a haze. Maybe there really wasn't anyone else.” No one to drive with to the beach, or to make love to in front of a cozy cabin fire. Just a hero she dreamed up. She really was quite pathetic.

“Either way, we think we found at least some of those bastards,” Nick Fury went on. “They're fixing to get a lot of equipment and a handful of their scientists out of the country.”

Steve suddenly stood. “Right now?”

Fury nodded to him. “Figured you'd want to go. If you leave now, you'll make it before the team heads out.”

Determined, Steve took a few strides toward the door and then paused, glancing back. The look on Marcy's face; she didn't want him to go. But Steve wanted to do nothing else but catch these guys and make sure they never hurt her or anyone else again. The call to act was too strong. He couldn't sit in this hospital room when he could _do_ something about what happened.

“I will be back,” he vowed. “This conversation... I will be back.”

With that, he was out the door in a few quick strides.

As long as Marcy was in the hospital, he never returned.

* * *

 

 

SHIELD tracked the enemy to Denver, Colorado. The world's largest city, as far as Steve was concerned. The urban sprawl seemed to suddenly bloom out of the mountains and go on forever and ever. Hydra agents were gathered at a private airport, loading a cargo jet when Steve and his team dropped in. Hawkeye and Black Widow were with him, hitting hard and fast. SHIELD didn't take too kindly to personal attacks on one of their own.

Hydra, however, was prepared to hit back just as hard. They were bound and determined to get that plane off the ground, leaving several agents behind to defend the jet as it began take off.

“Don't let that plane get off the ground!” Steve yelled into his radio.

But even as he spoke, missiles rained on top of them, causing everyone to run for cover. The jet was slowly moving for the runway. They were out of time. Steve raced for the plane. If he could catch it, get on board, he could stop it.

Then, three armed vehicles raced out of the hanger, massive machine guns stationed on the back. They were going to mow everyone down. Steve turned and raced the other way, forgetting the jet. He had to protect his team. He ripped his shield from his arm and flung it at the nearest vehicle, breaking the gun in two and causing the driver to swerve out of control in surprise.

Steve lurched forward to follow, to retrieve his shield and give new orders. He never got a word out. A massive Hummer hit him at full speed and all suddenly went black.

* * *

 

 

“This really isn't necessary,” Steve insisted from a sitting position as he watched Sam wander around. Sam's house was, as usual, full of family members, including Sam's mother and several random cousins. Steve had been staying with him since he had been released from the hospital a few days ago. He still wasn't used to such a loud living space, always full of people.

The mission to Denver had been a failure. The Hydra jet had escaped with whatever and whoever they had on board. While there were no casualties, several team members suffered injuries, including Steve himself. After being hit with a charging eight thousand pound machine, Steve had woken up in the hospital two days later.

Had he carried his shield to protect him from the impact, he might have walked away from the collision with only heavy bruising. If he had been a normal person, he would have been dead. Instead, his wounds consisted of: brain swelling, broken ribs, a punctured lung, a broken leg and a cracked kneecap. Everything hurt no matter how he moved, even now. Thus, why he had allowed himself to be taken to Sam's house to recover until he could get along better on his own.

“You gotta go somewhere, you can't stay here by yourself,” Sam said as he walked back into the living room. Steve sat in the recliner, the foot rest propping up his completely braced leg. Sam placed a duffel onto his stomach. “Here, I packed your bag.”

Steve just frowned at the new object on his person, not bothering to touch it. “Can't you just take me with you?”

“No, Steve. We don't have room for one more on this road trip, and that leg isn't going to fit anywhere anyway.” He dipped out into another room and then came back. One of his cousins came out of the same room and hurried up the stairs. This family road trip had been planned for months and everyone was hurrying to get packed and in their multiple vehicles on schedule. “Besides, Steve, this is supposed to be our vacation. No one wants to spend it being your nursemaid.”

“Fine. Then just take me back to my place.”

Sam laughed in his face and then said. “Dude, just be a man about this. How bad do you think it's going to be?”

Steve breathed out loudly. He didn't know and he really didn't want to find out.

* * *

 

 

Sam pulled up to the quaint little home that once belonged to SHIELD agent Claudia Shepherd—now currently occupied and owned by her daughter. Steve sat in the back seat of the car, his braced leg propped up and sticking out in the space between the two front seats. He did not move when Sam put the car into park and turned off the engine.

Sam looked at his stubborn, dumbass friend through the rear view mirror. “Talk to me, man, what's the deal? I thought you liked this girl.”

“I do,” Steve replied, frowning out the window.

“And you said you've never had a chance to get a real talk with her.”

Silence from Steve.

“So now you get to have a nice quiet house to yourselves—just you and her. You can talk about whatever you want. So, why do you not want to get your ass out of my car?”

A sigh from the back. “What if we now have the opposite problem? What if it's too much too soon? What if we get sick of being this close to each other before we really get know each other.”

“Well, then you'll know it wouldn't have worked out in the long run,” Sam said lightly. “But on the other hand, if you end up liking it, you two can play doctor with each other all week.”

He was rewarded with a smirk and a snort from Steve.

“It will be fine, Steve. Now get out. I've got a nine-hour drive ahead of me and I'd like to get on the road.”

Marcy stepped out of the front door as Sam helped Steve from the car. It wasn't the braced leg that made moving difficult, it was the cracked ribs. Everything Steve did was painful. He couldn't bend over, reach up, sit down, or practically breath without pain shooting up his sides. The doctors had insisted he use an electric wheelchair to get around while they healed, but Steve insisted on crutches. Even though using those, too, was excruciating.

Marcy took Steve's collection of luggage while Sam helped him up the steps and into the house.

“Thanks for bringing him,” she said to Sam. “I know you and the family are probably running around like crazy. I could have picked him up.”

Sam pulled back and looked at the two of them: Steve with his braced leg and fading bruises on his face and arms, Marcy with her arm bandage poking out her sleeve. She also still held a slight haunted look behind her eyes. Two broken people who could use a friend watching over them. Quite the damaged pair. “Nah, don't worry about it. You need to heal, too. Good luck, the both of you.” He looked meaningfully at Marcy. “I mean it. You're going to need it.”

“Really?” Steve demanded of his friend.

“Really,” Sam insisted with a grin, and then stepped out the door.

Steve glared at the door as they heard Sam's car drive away.

* * *

 

 

This was it. Marcy was now left all alone in her house with Steve Rogers. For the whole week. And for some reason, her heart wasn't about to burst from its chest with the anxiety of the situation. When she had been practically ordered to take Rogers into her home by Fury, Sam, and a few other Avengers, she nearly had a panic attack. Steve was going to be not just in close quarters with her, but in her care. For days. She went on a cleaning frenzy until her fingers were raw.

The night before, she lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling in fear. What if Steve only liked her before because he had since only had her in small doses? What if now that he was stuck with her 24/7 he was going to find her nerdy and obnoxious? He would finally discover the secret that he was way out of her league. He would change his mind about finishing that conversation from the hospital, if he ever planned to finish it at all. Marcy had given herself the peptalk over and over again that this might be the end of a romance that never began. She tried to convince herself that she would be okay with it. But then, her wicked brain would then reason, what if this was just the beginning? Then her heart would race and the anxiety would creep in and she would have to talk herself down all over again.

These thoughts had chased themselves around and around in her head all night long until she was tattered emotionally and frayed at the edges. Early hat morning she had sat on the edge of her bed, hearing the birds chirp at the first sign of daylight. She wasn't sure if she had slept at all that night In that moment, she realized she couldn't do this anymore and she broke.

Her brain suddenly decided she was through trying to fake it. “I'm done trying,” she said aloud. “I'm finished.” She wasn't going to try to impress Steve Rogers anymore. She was through acting like someone she thought he would want. After being strapped to a table, cut apart and rescued by what might have been a figment of her imagination, she just couldn't bring herself to care anymore. “Q _ue será, será,”_ her mother would always say to her when things became difficult. “Don't try to fight it so much. Whatever happens will happen, no matter how much you struggle.”

Marcy was through with struggling. Steve Rogers would be in her house for an entire week, for good or bad. She could not control his heart or what he thought of her. This week, she would be herself and let things happen as they happened.

Marcy looked at Steve and then turned to grab his luggage. “Let me show you the guest bedroom and then I'll give you a tour.” She walked with a limp, because of the hole still in her leg, and made no effort to hide it.

Steve must have noticed because he said, “I'm sorry if this as an inconvenience for you. I'm sure you already have plenty to deal with already. Unfortunately, I'm at everyone else's mercy right now.”

For the first time, Marcy wondered if his constant apologizing had nothing to do with her; that it was instead a personal hangup of Steve's. Maybe something about being out of his time, some kind of survivor's guilt. Since he woke up, everyone else has had to take care of him; provide a place for him to be, something for him to do. Saving people was how he payed everyone back. And if he couldn't do that, then what good was he? It was a theory, anyway. Only Steve would know for sure.

“Don't worry about. This could be fun. Here's the guest bedroom. The closet and drawers are empty so feel free to put your stuff wherever you want. The bathroom's next door.” She looked down at Steve's broken leg and his obvious discomfort of just trying to walk with crutches and broken ribs. “This one only has a tub with a shower curtain. You probably need a walk-in shower. There's one in the back bedroom and we can take turns. I like to shower at night before bed.”

“I like to shower in the morning, so that will work perfectly.”

Marcy nodded in agreement. “And sorry for advance if any of my bad habits show up. I'm used to living alone.”

“What kind of bad habits?”

“Oh, you know, leaving the bathroom door open, drinking straight from the milk carton. Forgetting to wear a bra, or... clothes.”

Steve's mouth ticked up in amusement. Marcy always like that face. He was so somber, even severe at times, it felt like a great accomplishment to amuse him. And a great reward to see that smile.

“I've got some of those bad habits, too,” he admitted. “We'll both do our best with this new... roommate situation.”

She nodded again, trying to think of any other information he should know. “Let's see... about security... I do have an alarm I set every night. I'll give you the code if you think you'll need it, but I doubt you're going anywhere without me.”

“Probably not.”

“Further down the hall here...” Marcy led them to the end of the hall. On the left was the master bedroom, her room. On the right, there was a small picture on the wall of a cat, hung strangely low for a picture. Marcy slapped her had on it and a part of the wall suddenly slid open, revealing a secret room.

“Panic room,” she said, pointing inside. “It's got enough food and water for about 48 hours, a few weapons, and both a landline and wireless phone line to call out. Both phones call directly to SHIELD's emergency line.”

Steve hobbled in and looked around, impressed. “And here I was worried about safety with two debilitated agents living alone.”

“Our kind of people always have resources,” she smiled back.

A questioning trill sounded as another body investigated at the panic room doorway.

“And there's my friend, Dippy,” Marcy said, looking down at her large, gray cat. “Please watch out for him when you walk. He's not going to watch out for you.”

“Duly noted.”

“And if you don't want any furry bedmates when you sleep, I suggest keeping your bedroom door closed at night.”

“What about non-furry bedmates?”

Marcy snapped her head around at him, surprised at what came out of his mouth. She glanced down at his broken, braced leg. “You can worry about the answer to that question when your bones knit back together.”

* * *

 

 

That last question, while a bit impulsive, Steve asked on purpose to test the waters between them. Their last conversation at the hospital had exposed their interest in each other. Then Steve left in a blink, promising to return to finish that thought; which he never did. Each of them were probably just as thrilled to be forced into this scenario: both wounded and wishing to heal in peace before seeing the other. But since this was their circumstances now, he wanted to see if the continuation of what they began was still a possibility.

When Marcy delivered her response and then smirked at him before returning up the hall, Steve felt things would be okay between them.

The conversation, however, was not revisited that day. It was more polite small talk as they tried to find a comfort zone with living around each other so closely. Marcy made him lunch, which Steve quite liked. He was quite capable of making his own food, but appreciated the consideration. Maybe this could be fun to pretend like normal people in a domestic setting for a few days.

Though while Steve's options were to either relax in his room, or watch TV with his leg propped up in the living room, Marcy kept herself much busier. All afternoon she worked in the yard, coming in for short breaks from the heat. It was still early August and plenty hot outside. They ate together at dinner, very companionably and not as awkward as he thought it would be. They made more small talk and didn't discuss anything of note. Nothing deep, but nothing uncomfortable. Both seemed content to let their first day together be quiet and uneventful.

That night, Steve lay in bed reading, listening to the sound of the shower in the back bedroom. There was something more peaceful out here than in Sam's house. For one, no random family members always dropping by. The neighbors were quieter, further apart. The sounds of night bugs sang to him from the open window. And then the shower turned off and the house went silent and dark, save for Steve's reading light.

Marcy's side of the house stayed silent and she did not appear from her room. Steve was expecting her to at least pad by the hallway for one reason or another, but she never showed. For the first time, he considered the possibility that Marcy was being brief and aloof around him on purpose and maybe if he wanted a real conversation with her, he would have to bring it up himself.

Fine. He was determined to do just that the next day.

* * *

 

 

Much like when staying at Sam's, the only walk-in shower at the house was in the master bedroom. Though it felt less intrusive going into Sam's bedroom, even though there was no door separating the bedroom from the bath at Sam's place. At Marcy's, an older-style house, Steve quite liked that there was a door he could shut in the master bath to separate it from the bedroom. No worries about choosing between locking her out of her room or having her accidentally walk into the bathroom when he wasn't decent.

With his braced leg wrapped to keep it dry, Steve carefully maneuvered himself into the shower and turned on the water. He was normally a man of quick showers, but with a broken leg and his ribs on fire any time he raised his arms, it took a while to get clean these days. That time was spent wondering what he would say to Marcy and how he would broach the subject of a possible relationship.

Getting out of the shower was its own challenge. Only one good leg on slippery tiles was tricky, but Steve had mastered it so far. That is, until he stepped in just the right place, his bare foot finding no friction on the wet shower floor. He slipped, his whole body doing in a graceless, floundering crash. Pain shot up his body in various places as he landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

For a moment he sat there, stunned, gritting his teeth from the pain. He tried to move, but his braced leg was propped at such an angle, that it was difficult to move at all. Then there was a sudden knock at the bathroom door, tossing him back into horrible, mortifying reality.

“Steve?” Marcy's voice called hesitantly. “I heard a crash. Everything okay?”

This was the worst kind of hell. Here he was naked, stuck on a bathroom floor with the woman he possibly wanted to date right outside the door.

“Uh... give me a second,” Steve called, his heart picking up with panic. He had to get himself out of this. But he was trapped inside the shower, his broken leg tropped at an odd angle. That plus the lack of anything to grab onto made it difficult to stand up. He tried to brace his palms on the slick walls and pull himself up. Blinding pain immediately shot through him and he dropped, panting and sweating. There was no way he was getting out of this by himself.

“Marcy?”

“Yes?” came the patient voice on the other side.

“I...” Steve couldn't believe he had to say this. He always hated saying this. “I need your help.”

There was a pause behind the door. “Can I come in?”

He was naked on the shower floor. His cheeks burned with humiliation, but there was nothing he could do about it. “Yes.” Then he remembered. “I think the door is locked.”

There were a few clicks on the other end and the sliding door moved a few inches.

“I've known how to get into all the locked doors of this house since I was a kid,” Marcy said. A towel was tossed out into the semi open shower. “Let me know when I can come in.”

Steve immediately grabbed the towel and did his best to cover himself. It was a struggle to get it around his hips, hopefully it would stay in place.

“Okay, come in.”

Marcy stepped in and looked down at him. If it was anyone else, he expected them laugh at him and then help him up. With Marcy, he expected her face to get bright red as it usually did when he interacted with her. His dirty secret was that he would look her in the eyes on purpose because he knew it flustered her. Was this payback?

However, Marcy did not laugh or get flustered. She looked over his predicament as if she were solving a puzzle, taking not even a second glance at his near nakedness.

“Alright, let's see if we can do this.”

Her feet were bare, too, as she stepped into the shower. Even now, those pick toenails always brightened his day a little. The first order of business was to get that broken leg situated into a better angle.

“Did you hurt it?” she asked as she lifted at the heel and moved it over to a better position.

Steve winced at the motion. “I don't think I broke anything that wasn't already broken.”

Once the leg was finished, Marcy crouched down at his side, putting an arm around her shoulders. She had wide shoulders for a woman, but they still felt small and delicate to Steve. He expected this to be such a humiliating situation, but he felt mild embarrassment at best. Having Marcy, fully clothed, pressed against his bare, wet chest was still comfortable somehow.

That is, until they both attempted to get him off the ground.

“Okay, lift,” Marcy ordered.

Steve braced his free hand against the wall again. He heard her grunt against him as she took the brunt of his weight with the initial push. Pain shot through his body again and he pushed through it as they inched higher. Once he was finally able to get his good leg under him, Steve was up and standing on his own. He immediately grabbed his towel that was slipping.

Both were panting and sweating from excursion.

“Thank you,” Steve said, the embarrassment washing over him a little more as he stood before her, wet and panting, a mere towel to conceal him.

“Don't worry about it,” Marcy breathed, her voice a little pained. “I'll leave you to it.”

She walked out of the bathroom, not bothering to close the door behind her. She was limping heavily, a hand pressed to the side where the bullet had gone through. Yesterday she wore a long skirt to cover her leg, but today it was a pair of tiny shorts, the entire bandage on her thigh exposed. Steve watched her go, breathing through his own pain. They were quite the damaged pair.

* * *

 

 

Once she had recovered from hefting the impressive and heavy bulk which was Steve Rogers off the ground, Marcy limped to the kitchen to make breakfast. Her side and her thigh both hurt. She may have even broke some stitches. However, she didn't bother to unwrap any bandages to check. If she had snapped a stitch, there was nothing she could do about it.

Instead, she busied herself with making breakfast. She could just picture Natasha rolling her eyes at Marcy being so domestic all of a sudden. But the truth was it was kind of fun to pretend to be normal for a while. And she didn't mind taking care of Steve for the week when he had trouble doing the simplest tasks at the moment.

Her mind wandered back to the shower and she was proud of herself for not making it weird or awkward. It was probably a fantasy of many a woman to catch Steve Rogers wet and panting in the shower. But the truth of the situation was that there was nothing sexually gratifying about seeing him that way. His body was covered in cut and bruises—especially the massive bruise that mottled all up one side. It gave Marcy empathy pains just thinking about it. She didn't like seeing him hurt. Let her get cut up and bruised, let Captain America always be in prime form and ready for action.

Eventually a fully-dressed Steve hobbled in and eased himself down at the table. There was already a plate set for him along with toast and juice.

“Eggs and bacon will be ready in a moment.”

“Sounds good,” Steve said.

Marcy kept telling herself she wasn't making these big meals to impress him, but she kind of was.

When the rest of the food was ready, she joined him at the table. Marcy had been aware Steve was watching her as she moved around the kitchen. Now he looked at her earnestly as if he wanted to say something. She met his gaze, waiting for him to speak.

“So, Marcy...”

There was a very solid knock at the front door and they both froze.

“Expecting anyone?” Steve asked.

“No,” she responded suspiciously. “Clint randomly drops by all the time, but he usually just walks in. Hold on.”

She stood swiftly and went to the front door. The slivers of ornate glass on the door gave her a peek of who was on the other side. No. It couldn't be. How did he find out where she lived? Marcy opened the door, blinking in disbelief at the strange sight on her doorstep. He presented himself as a normal human, dressed in modern clothes: a worn t-shirt and faded jeans, as if he wore them every day. However, standing so close, one could feel the otherworldlyness of him.

“Thor.”

He held up his hand in greeting, a closed-mouth smile on his face. He seemed a little less confident than the previous times she had met him.

“Hello. I am sorry to drop by unannounced, but I do not own a phone. I wished to visit and see how you were.”

She stepped back and motioned him inside.

“I hope I am not interrupting anything,” he added as he followed her to the dining area.

“Just in time for breakfast,” was Marcy's reply as she gestured to the seat she had previously occupied. “Have you eaten recently?”

Thor paused when he saw Steve at the table, then smiled Marcy's way. “No. It's been a while. Thank you.”

He sat himself down at the table while Marcy returned to the stove to make more food. “Please help yourself to what's there.”

Thor's gaze wandered over the food and settled on the man across from him. Both men shared a veiled sentiment that they wished the other was not there. “Captain, you... were in much better standing the last time I saw you.”

“I was hit by a speeding truck.”

“Ah! Yes! I suppose that would do it. I too have been hit with your Midgard vehicles multiple times. They are very sturdy.” He paused and then added with melancholy nostalgia, “Jane hit me with her vehicle all the time.”

“So, why are you here, Thor?” Steve asked in an accusatory tone.

“Why are you?” Thor shot back in the same tone.

Still eyeing him, Steve reached for the pitcher of juice and grimaced in pain as he tried to pick it up.

Marcy retrieved it herself and filled his glass. “Pretty much SHIELD has put us broken agents in the corner to take care of each other while we heal.”

“I see.”

“There's got to be another reason you came out here, Thor,” Marcy continued, pouring him juice as well. “I don't believe you came all the way to this world just to see me.”

“Uh, no.” Thor looked down at his plate. “I came to visit Jane and she... we aren't seeing each other anymore.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that.”

Steve reflected her sentiment by softening his body language against the unexpected guest.

Thor tried to wave off their sympathy. “Yes, well... we discussed it all night and it seemed like the wise thing to do. She said she understood why I could not always be by her side in this realm. I have many other obligations in Asgard that I must attend. She did not care for my absence, but nor was she willing to come with me and leave this realm behind. It seemed we were doomed to fail in this venture, so we ended it.” He put on a brave smile. “It is the best for both of us.”

The Asgardian appeared worn and weary, and not just from lack of sleep. Though it was likely he had been up all night. Marcy didn't have the heart to try to hurry his visit along.

“Well, if you dropped by here to procrastinate going home, you're welcome to loiter as long as you need.”

Thor nodded her way. “Thank you. That is most kind. Once more, I apologize for imposing myself on your gracious hospitality.”

Marcy glanced at Steve. She wanted to have this time alone with him. And didn't it seem like there was something he wanted to tell her? They still had the rest of the week to pick this up. Thor wasn't likely to stay that long. And since he had saved her life from Hydra, she would never turn him away when he was feeling low just because she wanted time with her crush.

“Don't even worry about it. Make yourself at home.”

* * *

 

 

After breakfast, Steve offered to help clean up, but Marcy chased him out and insisted he rest for a while. Steve allowed it, his ribs still ached from falling in the shower. Every movement hurt, so he instead settled himself on the recliner in the front room, broken leg propped up while he fiddled with his phone.

He thought he would check in on Sam to make sure his friend's trip was going well. He also mentioned Thor's visit and when Sam asked why the Asgardian was there, Steve explained what Thor had told them.

 _Dude, get him out of the house!_ was Sam's text in reply.

 _Why?_ Steve texted back.

_Didn't u say this Thor guy had some sort of thing for ur girl?_

_I don't know, maybe._

_He's looking for a rebound, Steve! U gotta get rid of him!_

_What do you mean by rebound?_

It was a while before Sam responded: _When u hook up with the first girl u can after a messy breakup to forget the other girl u broke up with._

Steve pondered that text for a while. Where was Thor now, anyway? He though he heard him messing around in the hallway bathroom, but that was a while ago. Maybe he was snooping around the house.

Steve's phone pinged another text from Sam:  _GET RID OF HIM._

Just as he read that text, Thor appeared in the living room, seeming unable to find anything else to do. He sat himself on the couch. The two men were silent for a while.

“Only hit by one vehicle?” Thor then asked. “I thought you much more resilient than that for a Midgardian.”

“Yes, well...”

Marcy's cat appeared from under the couch and immediately jumped up on Thor's lap, purring.

“Hello, what is this creature?” Thor asked, quite delighted with the friendly greeting.

“He used to be my dad's cat,” Marcy said, walking into the room. She had changed from her tiny shorts into a loose skirt and a shirt that covered her bandages. “He likes men. I think they remind him of Dad. Especially the gruff, rugged ones.”

Thor raised a brow at her. “You find me rugged, do you?”

Marcy only gave him a mild smile in return. “I'm going out to the store before it gets too hot. If you stay long enough for dinner, I'll make us a big meal.”

Steve tried to school his distaste for the invitation. Thor? Here all day until dinner? Sam's texts were still at the back of his mind.

“I might be persuaded to stay until then,” Thor said. He removed the cat from his lap and stood. “I would like to see your market place. May I join you?”

She paused to consider, but there was a look of intrigue on her face. “Sure. It... should be fine to take you out in public. You know how to act like a normal person, right?”

“I have been in Midgard many a time, around your people. I am perfectly...” He paused, looking at her skeptical expression. He then reworded his thought, his tone coming in with a sharper ring of truth. “I have been working on it.”

Marcy considered it again, then smiled. Q _ue será, será. “_ I'm sure it will be fine.”

“I'm coming, too,” Steve said, grabbing his crutches and slowly pulling himself to his feet.

“Are you sure?” she asked, watching him with sympathy. “You don't have to push yourself. You can stay here and rest.”

Steve was a little hurt that she actually suggested she and Thor go off together while he stayed here alone. “No, I want to go. I should be up moving around, it's good for me.”

Marcy looked from one to the other: the Asgardian and the man out of time that could barely get around. Why not? Maybe it would be an adventure.

“If you say you're okay, then I'm okay with it. I'll take whoever wants to come.”

* * *

 

 

Just like when Sam drove him up there, Steve had to sit in the back with his leg propped up, poking out between the two front seats. He now felt a little silly insisting on coming when it took so long to get him situated in the car. Marcy made him feel a little better when she tweaked the toe of his shoe and glanced back at him with a cute grin. That made Steve grin until Thor gave him an odd glance, then Steve sat in the back stone-faced and silent, cheeks a little warm.

Once they were at the grocery store, Steve felt even more silly about insisting on coming. He just could not keep up with the other two. They constantly had to wait for him and he was becoming flush and exhausted, just dealing with the pain of trying to keep up. Marcy purposefully slowed her pace for him and Thor didn't seem to mind as he marveled over the store and how convenient it was to find all one's needs in one building.

As he admired all the different cheeses at hand, Marcy ventured to say, “I'm sorry, but do you mind if I be a bit nosy and pry into your personal business?”

Thor glanced back at her. “Pry away. I have no secrets.”

“Was Jane seriously not interested in going to Asgard with you?”

“Well, she had been taken there once. I don't believe she had a good time.”

“Ah.” There was a pause between them. Thor kept looking at her curiously. “I guess I don't understand that mindset that girls have where they insist their guys have to be around all the time. I'd want a guy who goes out and does other things, even if it's in another world—realm. Otherwise, I'd be afraid I'd get sick of looking at his face. I don't know if I could have a partner that couldn't handle me being away from them or having a life outside this one person.” She looked at Thor who seemed extremely amused at that statement and she quickly glanced away. “But what do I know? I've never had a romantic partner. Maybe it's different when you find a person you care about like that.”

“Truly?” Thor asked with a raised brow. “You have never had a... what do they call it here... a boyfriend?”

Steve peered around Thor's bulk. “You really haven't?”

She balked at their stares, her face growing hot. She had been doing so well until then. “It's not like I haven't been on a date with anyone. Just... never a second date.” And she quickly pushed the cart along, away from them and the weird looks they were giving her.

With her gone, the two heroes glanced at each other. Thor blatantly gave Steve an intrigued grin. The captain returned it with a warning glare before hobbling away.

* * *

 

 

Once finished with the general shopping, Marcy announced she needed to pick up a few things from the dollar store. Which just about broke Steve's brain. Apparently, he had never heard of a dollar store before.

“So, everything in here is really a dollar?” he asked for the third time. He picked up two random items from the isle they were in. “This and this--”  
“Are a dollar each, yes, Steve.”

“How have I not heard of this place before? Everything in this time is so expensive!”

Marcy grinned to herself as Steve comically piled up items in his basket. In the candy isle, she found Thor holding a box in his hands.

“Ah! Fair Marcy! See this! I have had these rainbow candies before! Darcy once gave them to me. These... mackenmicks.”

“Mike and Ikes,” she corrected.

“Mikenikes, yes. Fantastic!” He tore open the box and began pouring them into his mouth.

“Well, I'm buying those,” Mary mumbled. Then she had an idea. “How about we get a bunch of candy for you to take back with you to share with your favorite people back home? And maybe you can spend some time talking with them about what has been going on with you lately. Sound good?”

Thor looked a little hesitant with the second part of the idea, but then smiled and agreed.

* * *

 

 

When they returned home it was nearly lunchtime. The guys were left to their own time while Marcy put away the groceries and changed back into her tiny jog shorts and bare feet. Then she set about making ham and grilled cheese sandwiches. Steve had given himself a few moments to sit and rest in his recliner before hobbling back to the kitchen. There he found Marcy crouched on the floor next to the stove, attempting to feed a piece of ham to her cat.

“Just... just... stop licking it. Put it in your mouth!” She pushed the meat into the cat's mouth. He seemed to be trying to eat it, but it ended up falling to the floor. Marcy picked it up and tried again. “Come on, you can get it. Just eat it.”

The cat, still more intent on just licking the ham instead of putting it in his mouth, ended up somehow flipping the meat up in the air. It landed on his head and Dippy took off out of the kitchen, startled, leaving the ham behind on the floor.

“Cat! Why are you so extra?” she called after him before picking the ham off the floor and putting it in the trash. As she did so, she noticed Steve watching from the entrance. “That cat wouldn't last a day on his own.”

“He's lucky he has you then.”

“Yes he is. You like grilled cheese, Steve?”

He curiously moved further into the kitchen to see what she was making. “Probably. I like just about anything.”

“You've... never had a grilled cheese sandwich? It's the easiest thing in the world to make. What do you eat?”

He paused to think about it. “I don't know, whatever's at the cafeteria at SHIELD. Before that, it was whatever was at the mess hall or what was served in the field. And before that, it was war rations of bread and potatoes.”

Marcy just looked at him for a while. “Wow. Though I won't lie, I too like to eat at SHIELD so I don't have to make myself dinner at home.”

Steve was now at the counter and he leaned against it. “How about you show me how to make those?”

“Okay. I'll have you do the next one. The hardest part is just watching it so they don't burn.”

She flipped the sandwich over in the pan and the two of them stood in silence for a moment. Marcy let her gaze wander over to the man beside her, settling on his torso. She remembered all the cuts and bruises she saw. It made her want to hug him, though she knew it wouldn't be comfortable for him with those broken ribs. Still, she wondered about the space around him. How well would she fit in that space, pressed against him, arms around him?

“Hey.” Steve dipped his head to catch her gaze and Marcy was suddenly aware she had been staring. “What are you thinking about?”

There was clear teasing in his voice at catching her, but Marcy answered truthfully. “I was thinking about how I didn't realize how bad you were hurt until I saw it. It scared me a little. I forget you're not indestructible.”

Steve looked down, a small smile on his face. “Sometimes I forget, too.” He leaned a bit closer to her, his voice low. “I was scared, too, when we found you; when you were brought into the hospital. Though I had been terrified since the moment I realized you were missing.”

“Oh,” was all Marcy could think to say about that.

Steve wasn't finished. “That day you were taken, I came here to pick you up. I thought I had asked out the correct Marcy. But then I saw...” He looked down at her bare feet, her toes painted pink. “I had never seen you wear open-toed shoes. I was surprised you even had any.”

“They would have had to dig deep into the closet for those.”

“There were no pink toes and I knew it wasn't you. I don't remember my heart ever beating so hard, or ever being that angry.”

She made a happy sound through her nose. “That makes me feel good that you were angry and worried, though I'm also sorry you had to go through that.”

Steve moved closer. He also wanted to say he was sorry to her, but she was always irritated when he apologized. So instead, he said, “I care about you, Marcy. I will always worry and get angry if something bad happens to you.”

His voice went low, speaking only to her. He was in her space now; she could almost feel the heat from his body. Her gaze went back to his chest, broad and empty. Again she wondered if she could fit into that space. Then his head was right above hers, catching her attention. Her face warmed as his mouth moved for hers. She could nearly feel his breath.

“I can smell the food in here,” Thor announced as he walked in.

Marcy jerked back; Steve moved away, but far more slowly and with irritation. Marcy, however, was almost glad for the interruption. Her heart was pounding a thousand miles a minute. God, she just couldn't keep her cool around this man. She was such a spazz.

“It will be a while, we've just started cooking,” Marcy said.

Thor glanced down at her legs, which were largely exposed due to the tiny shorts she wore. “It looks like you've been bleeding.”

She inspected the large, visible bandage on her thigh. There was definitely signs that blood had been seeping through. Not an alarming amount, but enough to notice.

“Shoot. Looks like I did snap a line.”

“These are the wounds you received from Hydra?”

“Yeah.” She glanced up at the intrigued Asgardian. “Do you... want to see them?”

“I do,” Thor responded instantly.

In a few minutes, Steve was put on grilled cheese duty at the stove while Marcy sat at the dining room table with the first-aid kit. Thor was right next to her as she exposed the raw hole on her thigh.

“ _This_ is what they did to you?” Thor said, both anger and confusion taking turns on his face. “What a strange mode of torture. I trust you were too strong to give them what they wanted.”

“Unfortunately, what they took is what they wanted,” she replied. When Thor looked like he was preparing a bunch of questions, she quickly continued. “So all these threads crisscrossing over the hole are stretching the skin to make it smaller. As you can see, I popped one of the seams this morning, hence the bleeding. But it will be fine, it's happened before. Then, I've got these latex balloons under the skin on my back, stretching it out, too.”

“Ah, yes, I noticed that,” Thor confirmed. “I wasn't sure if I should say anything.”

“So, in a few weeks, they're going to cut some of the excess skin off my back and use it to fill the holes on my leg and arm. Then I'll be whole again. Easy as that.”

“Nothing about it sounds like it was easy,” Thor said with sympathy. “Had I known this was what they had done to you when I found you, I would have stayed longer to deliver a violent reckoning in your name.”

She grinned at that. “Maybe a violent reckoning next time. Do you want to see the bullet wound, too? It's pretty nasty.”

Thor brightened. “Yes, I do!”

* * *

 

 

After consuming an impressive amount of grilled cheese sandwiches, Steve retired back to the recliner to rest for a moment. He fell asleep there, exhausted. Thor wandered out of the house to get some time to himself and Marcy was more than happy to have some alone time as well.

She went to the backyard and toiled in the heat for the afternoon. Her mother was terrible at keeping up the yard. She usually paid someone to do it, if it was ever done at all. Now that Marcy owned the house, she was determined to keep it looking nice. There was also something greatly satisfying about yard work that was starting to grow on her and she enjoyed being alone with her thoughts and the grass.

After a few hours Marcy stood to stretch her back and gazed over her work. Beyond the property borders, she saw Thor wandering out in the wilderness. Behind the house was a large, marshy pond, nearly choked with high weeds. The prince from another realm meandered along the dirt path that circled the water. Every now and then he would pause to toss a rock into it, or to just gaze out at nothing.

Marcy left her yard work to join him, meeting him under the shade of a massive willow tree. They stood together in silence until Marcy said, “While you are welcome to stay as long as you need, I feel like there's something else going on with you. And maybe moping around here will not be helpful to you. Personally, I've always preferred to do my brooding at home.”

Thor stared out at the pond for a while. “My mother... was killed. My brother died in battle. Home feels like a very strange place right now.”

Marcy, whose eyes had widened at the first admission, and was now feeling like a complete asshole for asking, now struggled for a response. “Did you tell Jane what happened?”

Thor looked at her, giving her a tight smile. “I am sorry I brought this up. It is not your problem.” He moved on before she could speak, circling the pond again. She hurried to catch up.

Thor picked up a rock and skipped it along the buzzing, bug infested water of the pond. “Have you heard of the infinity stones?”

When he glanced back at her, she shook her head.

“They say there are six stones of immense power that came into being at the creation of the universe. There are rumors a dark power is collecting them, if they are even real. I thought perhaps I would quest for them for a time. It will give me something to do while I--”

He felt thin arms wrapping around him from behind. Marcy held him tight, pressing her cheek to his back.

“Home feels strange right now, but it will get better. Just give it some time. It's okay if you don't want to go home yet. It's okay to take as much time as you need to deal with this how you need to deal with it. I'm sorry. I won't ask again if you don't want to go home and you don't want to talk about.”

He was stiff in her arms, but eventually relaxed, his gaze far out into the distance. The bugs buzzed around them, the summer heat heavy and lethargic.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

* * *

 

 

_He stood there, frozen in place: the man with the metal arm. He couldn't move, and neither could she, as she helplessly watched them cut him open. It was soundless horror as the saws dug into his flesh, severing his limbs in a spray of blood. He was screaming; she was screaming, but the only noise she heard was that maddening, frightening sound of the bone saw as it cut... and cut... and cut._

 

Marcy sat up in bed, covered in sweat and clutching her chest. Her eyes were wide and wild in the dark, her heart pounding in her chest so hard it was painful. For several moments she just sat there, panting and shaking from her nightmare, waiting for her body to recover.

Her heart wasn't stopping. It still raced, it still hurt. She was having a panic attack. On weak legs, she stumbled to the half vanity, half closet area that was juxtaposed between the bedroom and the bathroom. Leaning on the counter, she switched on the lights and opened the vanity mirror, pawing through the contents to find a specific medication. Her therapist had prescribed it to her.

SHIELD cared about the mental health of their agents. When one of them had been through a traumatic experience like Marcy had, they were required to see one of the therapists kept in house and were not allowed to go back to work until their mental health was reported to be in good order.

Marcy had not told a soul about this, but since her return from Hydra's lab, she had been prone to random panic attacks. Also nightmares about her captivity. When she awoke, she could feel the pain in her wrists and ankles at being strapped down. She felt the burns and the muscle spasms of being electrocuted. She felt the blades of the scalpels, heard the sound of them cutting through her flesh.

She had experienced all this before. Though this was the first nightmare that had been so brutally graphic. And the first nightmare about the man with the mental arm. The man that, even her therapist agreed, was conjured by her own subconscious as a way to cope with the trauma of what happened to her.

That, too, was something she still struggled with. As she gazed at her haunted face in the mirror, she recalled how his voice sounded, the intricacy of his metal arm, the weight of his body as they both limped together to the cabin. Some days it all did seem like a fevered dream and other days, it felt so horribly real. This night, fantasy and reality seemed to blur and she didn't know what to believe.

At that point, Marcy noticed her shirt was soaked through with sweat. She quickly tossed it on the floor and retrieved a fresh one. No sooner had she put it on then she heard a knock.

“Marcy?” Steve's voice asked.

Thankful she was dressed, she quickly scooted out into the bedroom. Steve stood in the open doorway; left open for Dippy to go where he pleased. Currently, he napped next to Thor on the pull-out couch in the living room.

“Hey,” Marcy greeted when she saw him. His look of concern concerned her. “Are you okay?”

“I was going to ask you that. I heard a noise.”

“A noise?”

“I thought it sounded like... you were in distress.”

Had she made noises in her sleep or cried out when she woke up? Marcy couldn't recall. Her heart still pounded, the panic attack distracting. It would be a few minutes until the medicine had a chance to help her calm down.

“I had a nightmare,” she said truthfully. “I'm sorry if I woke you. I didn't realize I had made any noise.”

Steve didn't have to guess what it was about. “Are you going to be okay? You're really pale.”

Marcy touched her cheeks. She wasn't sure what she looked like even though she had stared at the mirror only moments before. Could he hear her heart pounding? He looked at her like he could.

“It's fine. They're scary, but when you wake up, you get over it.”

Steve had not brought his crutches with him. He hopped a bit on his good leg and then motioned to the bed in question. Marcy nodded and he sat himself down, hand pressed to his bad knee.

“It wasn't until I met Sam that I knew what PTSD was. We just didn't understand that kind of thing back then. I know what it's like to wake up in a cold sweat, heart pounding. Even when I'm awake, even though the lights are on, I can see soldiers getting mowed down in front of me—kids barely 18 years old. I can hear the explosions and the gunfire. I can smell the death. The war is so far away from me now, but it's like a piece of my soul was trapped there forever. I go back there so easily and there are times when I wake up in the dark and I'm not sure what's real.

“The worst part is waking up on those nights and it's just me alone in the darkness. I might as well be trapped on the moon, I feel pulled so far apart from regular people. No one to confirm that I'm home safe.” He paused and looked up at Marcy. When she didn't say anything, he added, “I can go back to bed, or I can stay here. Whatever you want me to do.”

She watched him for a moment, her face unreadable. “I'm going to turn off the lights.”

“Okay.” She hadn't indicated what she wanted him to do, so Steve didn't move.

Marcy flicked the light switch, plunging them into darkness. She then quietly padded around the bed and crawled in under the covers. Steve was left sitting there. She had made him choose himself after all. Steve understood that pride and the stubbornness to admit when one wanted help or comfort. He, too, was stubborn and he wasn't going to leave until she asked him to.

So he hiked his busted leg onto the bed and lay down on top of the blankets, hands resting on his stomach. The two stared at the ceiling side by side. Steve could hear her protracted breathing. In for three, hold for three, out for three. He had learned that breathing method, too. Marcy was still trying to calm herself down.

Eventually she rolled over and gingerly rested her cheek and one hand barely on his arm.

“Is this okay?” she whispered.

“Yes.” Her touch was ice cold. He would have pulled her in against him if his ribs weren't broken and it wasn't excruciating to lift his arms over his head.

She moved in a little closer after a few minutes and Steve could feel her pulse, faster than normal. It was slowing down and eventually, they both drifted off to sleep.

* * *

 

 

It had been warm in the house that night; Marcy turned off the AC before bed to save money. It was still warm in the house when Steve awoke early that morning. Even sleeping on top of the covers, he couldn't have been cold in his sweat pants and socks. Yet, Steve woke up absolutely chilled to the bone.

Marcy was still asleep and he extricated himself from the bed as silently as possible. Returning to his room, he retrieved the jacket he brought, but hoped to never have to use while visiting here. He then grabbed his crutches and went out in the backyard for some exercise and sunshine. Maybe that would help him get rid of the chills. Usually they lasted all day, but he could try.

Sometime later, Marcy called out that breakfast would be ready soon and he carefully pulled himself back up the stairs into the house.

“Are you cold?” was her first question the instant he came inside. “It's nearly 80 degrees outside already.”

“Yeah, I know,” he said with discomfort at being called out. “I just had the chills a bit today.”

“Are you okay? You're not sick, are you?”

He quickly waved her off. “No, I feel fine, really. I just have these days where I can't get warm. I think it's from being frozen for all those years. It comes and goes, it's not a big deal.”

_I just have these days where I can't get warm, even in the middle of summer._ James had said the same thing to her. James, the man that didn't exist...

“Friends, good morning,” Thor announced as he stepped inside. He was no longer dressed in his Midgard clothes and was now back in his usual Asgardian attire. Neither Steve nor Marcy knew how he did that, he had not brought a single thing with him aside from his hammer when he appeared at the door yesterday. “I have come to tell you I will be leaving shortly.” He nodded at Marcy. “First a quick visit at home and then I shall embark on a quest I have given myself.”

Steve was trying to make sense of all that, but Marcy just said, “Will you have breakfast before you go?”

Thor glanced at the stove hungrily. “If you don't mind.”

She was about to motion toward a chair when the front door loudly opened and closed. Marcy immediately expected Clint, but a different male voice sounded.

“Lucy, I'm home,” Tony Stark called as he walked into the kitchen like it was one of the vast many buildings he owned. He paused when he saw the two other men in the room. “Well, what is this going on? The Avengers assembling for breakfast without me. Or, no wait—let me guess: secret threesome? I did not know you had such a wild side to you, Agent Gray.”

“What do you want, Stark?” Steve's extremely flat and irritated voice said.

“Relax, Humpty Dumpty, I didn't come here for your broken ass.”

“I was in a threesome once,” Thor recalled fondly. “But it was with two women, not...” He gestured to the room.

Steve frowned deeper, but Marcy looked extremely amused with it all.

“Did you come for breakfast, Tony?”

“Oh, it's Tony now, is it? I did not realize we were suddenly on a first-name basis,  _Marcia_ .”

“People who think they know me well enough not to knock must suffer through first-name basis.”

“Well, since you're offering. A cup of coffee and I'll be out of your hair. A large cup if possible. It's been a while without that good shit.”

Marcy suddenly grinned. She grinned wide as if she heard the most amusing thing ever. Tony wasn't sure what that meant. He ignored it and began sniffing around the kitchen. After a thorough look of the counter and a few cupboards, he to turned to the agent in confusion.

“You... do you not own a coffee maker?”

“I don't drink coffee.”

A look of such complete and utter befuddlement had never been on Tony Stark's face before. He had understood all things in his life, but this...

“You, you don't... But how do you know...?

“I took care of my dad the last few months of his life. He taught me how to make it.” She tapped the side of her nose. “I know the  _smell_ when it's brewed just right.”

Tony stared at her a while longer. “Who  _are_ you? I don't even know you anymore.”

She shrugged, still grinning. “Or you never really knew me at all.”

Tony made a sour face.

“I'll make you coffee when I'm off medical leave.”

He gave a big sigh. “I  _suppose_ I can wait, you being full of holes and all.”

“How kind of you.”

“I guess I'll pick up something mediocre on my way to the tower.” Tony turned to go and immediately tripped on the large cat skulking behind him. “Dipshit! I swear, ya dumb cat!” And with that, he quit the house. Whatever expensive ride he had at the time was heard roaring off seconds later.

“Does the man of iron visit you often?” Thor idly wondered.

“More than I would like.”

“Wait a minute,” Steve suddenly announced. “Dippy. Is the cat's real name... Dipshit?”

* * *

 

 

After breakfast, they met back by the pond: Thor and Marcy. He had his hammer in one hand and a comically full sack of dollar store candy in the other. Marcy was pleased to see him go, but not because she wished to be rid of him, but because he was doing what he needed to do. This time, she was going to miss him and hoped she would see him again. Hopefully, when his personal life was in better order.

“Thank you for your hospitality, you have been most kind to me,” Thor said. His deep voice grated low and for that moment, Marcy had a fleeting thought that in another lifetime, another world, she would maybe have a low key crush on this man.

“I was happy to give you a place to land while you figured things out. I hope things improve for you. And... maybe when your quest is over, you could visit and tell me all about it.”

He smiled at her and it was heart-melting. “I would like that very much. Be well until next time, fair lady.”

And then, with a sudden whip of the wind and a lightning bolt, he was gone.

* * *

 

 

As the early-morning heat indicated, the day was a scorcher. It was too hot to work outside with the temperature nearly in the triple digits. Definitely not a day for yard work. This forced Marcy to do that which she had been putting off in favor of gardening. Time to put more order to the house on the inside.

“I've been putting it off forever,” Marcy said, her voice trailing down from the hole that led up to the tiny storage attic above. “All my life this house has been one way: been Mom's house. I own it now, but I've been struggling to make it mine.” Her legs appeared on the fold-out stairs leading down as she carried a handful of dusty boxes. “I was even living in the guest bedroom until shortly before you arrived.”

Steve could only stay on the ground floor and watch her, unable to help. “I can imagine that. When my parents were gone, I didn't even want to try to hang onto the apartment where we lived. It was hard to be there without them.”

“Right. I thought about just selling this old house for a while, but I love it too much. I guess this sick leave has been a good thing. I'm stuck at home with nothing to do, so I have to spend time on the house.” She set the boxes next to the pile of other bins and boxes before dusting off her hands. There was also dust all over her shirt. “It's all out. Time to dig through it.”

It was a task Marcy had been dreading since her mother had passed, but it turned out to actually be a lot of fun. Steve being there made it better. He listened as she laughed and reminisced about all the old memories her mother's things conjured up.

“Oh look! Here's all the different Halloween photos I've sent her over the years.”

“These are fairly recent,” Steve laughed. “Clint and Natasha are in a couple of these.”

“Yeah, I make them dress up if they're around in October. They really try not to be. But my mom loved it when we sent her a Halloween picture. And well, Clint and Natasha both loved my mom.” She paused and glanced Steve's way. “We will figure out what you should dress as this year.”

“I think I will probably be unavailable in October, too.”

She laughed. “That's what they all say.”

She dug into a different box and pulled out an old collection of envelopes held together by a brittle elastic band which broke when she tried to remove it. Marcy had never seen these items before and went through them curiously, inspecting each one.

“I think... I think these are all letters between my mom and dad,” she finally declared. “Love letters. Wow, I had no idea these even existed.” She opened one to find the folded paper nearly falling apart from over use.

“Nobody writes letters any more,” Steve lamented. “All I get are texts and e-mails. They feel so impersonal.”

“You're welcome to write me letters,” Marcy teased back, then returned her attention to the paper. “It's a poem. How cute is this?”

 

_I love you._

_In all your different ways,_

_All your different faces._

_I would not change you_

_Though you often leave me behind_

_With the crickets and the moon_

_And thoughts of you._

_The bed is lonely without you._

_The fields feel long, endless,_

_Like a prison under open sky._

_I cannot leave to find you._

_I must work and wait for your return._

_Always wait._

_But the wait is joyful._

_As long as you return,_

_I will wait._

_Gladly._

_I think of you, remember the smell of your hair_

_Your taste, your laugh, your eyes._

_I will always be here as long as you always return to me._

 

Marcy sat in thoughtful silence as she finished reading. Her father was not an eloquent man, but that did not mean there was not romance in his heart. Her parents had always been fond of each other despite living in different houses, different lives. And now, where ever they were, Marcy had no doubt they were together.

When she looked up for Steve's opinion of the poem and he was right there, his nose nearly brushing hers. His body was in her space, warm and inviting. Her gaze flickered over his face as he moved in. And there her heart went again, racing in panic mode. She leaned back a bit, hand on her chest as she breathed out in long breaths.

Steve recognized her distress, but he didn't know why she was in distress now, when they were close and the moment felt right. “Marcy, I... I really like you,” he breathed in a low tone. Not this time. He wasn't going to let the moment escape them this time.

She breathed a few more times, trying to calm herself down. Hand still on her pounding heart, she blurted out, “Why?”

He blinked. “Why what?”

“Why do you like  _me_ ?”

To him, it was a silly question. He gave a small snort. “You want to know why I like you? You really don't know?”

Her cheeks flushed and she glanced away. “I'm not exactly anyone's first pick. In fact, I  _haven't_ been anyone's first pick. Why me?”

If he had always had the physique of Captain America, he probably wouldn't have understood the question. But he was familiar with that self doubt, that hyper-awareness of knowing all his physical shortfalls. He didn't expect women to find him attractive, he knew he wasn't what they wanted. Even after the super soldier serum when he and Peggy found each other growing closer, he still had that same mindset crouching in his brain.  _'Why me? Why would she want a guy like me? A fake? A science experiment? Something that had to be altered because I wasn't good enough the way I was?'_

Steve thoughtfully leaned back on the couch looking upward. “Let's see, reasons I like you... I think it first started in Romania, when I saw you standing in the rain. I couldn't get that picture out of my head. And then you played that song for me. I'll never forget that day.”

Marcy looked truly shocked at those words.

Steve went on. “At the pier, you told me that it was okay to do things in my own time, in my own way. You don't know how badly I needed to hear that. You make me want to laugh and crack jokes. You help me remember what its like to be a normal person. You've been teaching me how to balance myself between the life of a soldier and the life of a civilian.” He grinned. “With your pink toes and your karaoke and Halloween costumes. And your dancing game, which I've been practicing for a rematch, by the way.”

Marcy barked out a laugh. “You've been playing Dance Dance? At the arcade?”

“Actually, I bought the game and have been playing it at home.”

“Really. The whole thing. Consul, dance pads and everything.”

He nodded. “Yup. I bought it on the Ebay.”

She laughed. “ _The_ Ebay! My mom always called it The Ebay.”

Steve grinned at her. “Now your turn. Why do you like me?”

The laughter suddenly stopped and Marcy's face flushed again. The words ' _well, duh, you're Captain America'_ flashed through her brain. A flippant, shallow remark. Not necessarily untruthful, but Steve deserved a better answer than that after he had been so honest with her.

“Back when you were found in the ice, SHIELD asked me to research this Steve Rogers to help them figure out exactly who was this person they discovered. I had to go dig around in the dark pit of what remained of SHIELD's original hard files to find your record and I read all about you. Of course, when I saw your photo, I thought you were cute,” she admitted. Steve smirked a bit at that. “But I also found out about this stubborn kid from Brooklyn who didn't let anyone tell him what he could and could not do.

“I learned how he wanted to fight for people even when he was told he wasn't strong enough, about how he lied to try to get into the military because he knew it was the right thing to do. And when approached by a scientist and given the option to become something better, to do good, he took that opportunity without a second thought.

“But even then, people kept telling him no. 'You can't fight,' they said. 'We have other plans for you.' But you didn't listen. The first opportunity you got, you were out there, risking your life saving others. I'm sure you're familiar with the story.”

“I am,” Steve confirmed with a smile.

“At the time I learned this, I was very depressed with my job. I wasn't taking field missions anymore, I was just sitting in the office like an over-payed secretary. I read your story and then saw how you woke up here and got right back on that horse again, saving lives. I thought to myself 'This guy has had the worst luck and look at how he's turned it around. Meanwhile, I've been given everything and the only one who is telling me no is me.'

“You inspired me to do better. I got back in shape, lost fifteen pounds, transferred to HQ and went back into the field. Some days are more of a struggle than others, but I do my best. I honestly never expected to have any kind of correspondence with you. Just knowing your story made me want to be a better person.”

Steve smiled at her, touched. “All that just from reading my file? I wonder what it said.”

Marcy perked up. “Oh, you know I still have it. I forgot to give it back and no one ever came looking for it so it just got packed away with a bunch of other old case files. She stood and rifled through the pile of boxes until she came to a specific bin. After digging for a second, she tossed an old brown folder to Steve, Frisbee style.

Marcy went on talking about her other files as she sorted through them. Steve wasn't listening. He opened the file to see a faded sepia toned photo paperclipped inside. It was a picture of him before the super soldier procedure.

“Is there just this one photo of me in here?”

She glanced back for a second before returning to her own project. “Yup, that's the one.”

There was no photo of Captain America in this folder. She said she thought Steve Rogers was cute.

Marcy remained crouched among her mess, uncovering all her forgotten treasures.

“Marcy.” His voice was closer than she expected.

Steve was right beside her as she stood. Before she could ask what he needed, his hands were cupping her neck, his mouth on hers. Her entire body froze, arms limp at her side. Her heart pumped harder, but the anxiety wasn't there. His hands were gentle, one thumb rubbing gently at her jaw. His mouth felt nice on hers. Gingerly she touched the edge of his shirt with her fingers and, standing up on her toes, she kissed him back.

 

 


	14. The Problem

**Faded**

**Chapter 14: The Problem**

 

**Three Months Later**

 

Marcy looked up from her computer as she felt someone enter her office. “Oh, hey Natasha. Welcome back.”

“Good to be stateside again,” the redhead responded. Natasha was one of the more well traveled agents. Unlike 95% of the staff in SHIELD Central, she did not have an office or even a specified location of employment. She went where the job took her and sometimes it took her away from the country for several weeks at a time. “And how are you doing? I heard you had your skin transplant.”

Marcy reflexively glanced at her arm, though the bandages couldn't be seen with the long sleeved button up shirt she wore.

“Yeah, and it's been healing well. I'm actually leaving in about an hour to get the stitches taken out.”

“Oh yeah?” Natasha leaned in, curious. “Can I come with you? I want to see.”

“You and everyone else can see it tomorrow. I promised Steve I wouldn't show anyone else until he shows up tonight.”

Natasha smiled at that, pleased that idiot was finally in a relationship. The two seemed to be good for each other. “How have you two been doing?”

The brunette couldn't help but flush a little, her face lighting up. “Pretty good, actually. Steve seems a lot happier these days, which of course makes me happy. And he's been really supportive through all this. I'm very lucky to have him.”

“Yeah well, just remember, he's lucky to have you, too. I mean it.”

“Yes, Mom,” Marcy shot back while the other woman closed the office door so they could talk more privately.

“So, I have some information for you on your fantasy man.”

“Oh gosh, Natasha. Please don't say it like that.” It had taken a while before Marcy had found enough courage to talk to someone about James. She had been so embarrassed to bring it up after agreeing with those who insisted that her mystery savior wasn't real. But the dreams kept haunting her; her memories kept haunting her. Marcy knew she had to make sure and Natasha was the person she turned to.

They weren't super close, but friendly co-workers and she had always respected the Black Widow. Natasha wouldn't laugh at her for questioning her memories from a traumatic experience. Natasha did not even give her that placating smile when Marcy mentioned this man James had a metal arm. She had taken the information seriously and said she would look into it and get back to her. That was before she left on her mission nearly five weeks ago.

“I'm honestly not sure if this is your guy, but he's the first person I thought of.” She tossed a thin file on Marcy's desk. “We don't have much on him anymore. SHIELD straight up wiped most of its files before allowing the rest of it to be exposed to the public.”

Marcy looked at the tab. “The Winter Soldier? I've only heard stories. I thought he wasn't real. And I definitely haven't heard about him having a metal arm.”

“Very few people who have seen him have lived to tell about. Even fewer have been close enough to notice. I've seen it. I've seen him. He's very real.”

“And hiding from Hydra? That doesn't make sense. He's their top hitman, isn't he?”

“Used to be. Only very recently did we finally find out his real name,” Natasha said as Marcy opened the file. There was a picture of a man, very clean cut, paperclipped to the top page. Another picture was of the Winter Soldier in full gear, but a mask hiding his face. Marcy studied the first photo. Add some stubble, imagine the hair grown out...

“That... I think that's him! His name's... James Buchanan Barnes?” _James._ She hadn't dreamed him up. Relief washed over her like she had let out a breath she had been holding for far too long.

“His friends called him Bucky,” Natasha added tightly.

“Bucky...” Marcy balked. “ _Steve's_ Bucky?! 1940's Bucky? How is he still this young?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. Maybe they froze him, too. The Winter Soldier was here in the thick of it during the Project Insight incident. Those of us who saw him have been ordered to keep quiet about it. Steve's been trying to track him down since then. He thinks he can... help him somehow.”

Marcy sat quietly for several moments, trying to process this new information. _I saved you because of the picture,_ James had said. The picture of her and Steve.

“Have you told Steve about this?”

“No, I think it should come from you,” Natasha informed her with a tone that left little room for argument. “You've kept it to yourself long enough.”

“I wasn't hiding this on purpose. Everyone got me so turned around, making me believe I just made it up. They probably would have believed me if I mentioned the metal arm, but I was so embarrassed to say anything. I thought it would make me sound even more crazy.”

“You always worry too much about what everyone else thinks of you,” Natasha accused. “You're going to tell Steve about this now, right?”

The flutter of anxiety began to grow in Marcy's chest. She did care too much about what people thought of her, especially Steve. Would he be mad that she sat on this information for so long? Their relationship was still so new. She didn't want to be the cause of tension. But it would be even worse if she continued to keep it from him.

“Yes. I'll tell him when I see him tonight. As soon as I figure out _how_ I'm going to tell him I've been keeping this from him.”

“He'll understand, Marce. He knows you wouldn't have done it on purpose if you knew.”

She let out a long breath to calm herself. “What about the other person I asked you about? Any luck on that?”

“Nothing so far. Haven't found any information on a Dr. Steadman- no first name- working for either SHIELD or Hydra at any time. Just as Fury said back when you first told us about him.” She paused. “Any specific reason why you need to know about this guy? According to you, he's dead now, so what does it matter?”

Marcy just shook her head. “To be honest, I don't really know. I just feel like there's something more about this guy that I should... I don't know... remember, maybe? Just let me know if you find anything. And thanks, Natasha. Sorry to take up your time.”

“Hey, no problem. We're friends, aren't we?”  
  
Marcy blinked at her. Sometimes she couldn't tell with the redhead. Then she smiled. “Yes, I guess we are.”

* * *

 

 

“And the big reveal!” Marcy announced, unwrapping her arm grandly as if she were presenting some sideshow.

“I've been looking forward to this,” Steve said as they both sat together on her couch.

“You and me both,” she agreed as the bandages fell away. “Finally, no more annoying stitches stretching or holding my skin together.”

The revealed flesh was still red and puckered with tiny little holes where the stitches had been. But everything was now filled in and the skin was looking on the mend. Marcy experimentally poked at the new graft where the rectangular hole had been. She was pleased to find proper sensation from the transplant when she touched it.

“Not too bad,” Steve said, taking his turn to lightly touch it.

“It still looks pretty gross, you can say it. They want it to keep healing on its own for a little while longer to make sure the grafts take. After a few weeks they'll bring out The Technology to help with the scarring. Then it will really start looking better.”

“I think it looks fine,” Steve insisted. “Not gross at all.”

“The one on my thigh might change your mind. It's still pretty nasty.”

“Can I- do you mind if I see it?”

Marcy flushed a little, not expecting that request. She was wearing a loose skirt, something she had grown used to since having to walk around with heavy bandages. She carefully hiked it up, revealing no more than necessary.

“Oh yeah, it's still a little oozy.” He reached to touch it anyway.

“Ouch!” Marcy suddenly barked and he jumped back in fear.

“Ha! I got you,” she laughed.

“Marcy! You are _terrible_!” The last word came out like a growl and he lunged at her. She squealed and tried to flee, but with his own wounds now all healed, he was far too fast. He grabbed her in an unbreakable hold and growled again into her shoulder while she flailed. He blew a raspberry into her neck and she screamed anew, trying to get away.

Steve continued to hold on tight as they both fell onto the couch, laughing. That laughter quickly turned into a few breathless kisses before Marcy held his face in her hands and kissed him all over his forehead, nose and cheeks. Steve closed his eyes in bliss, bathing in the affection.

“Okay, now let me go. I have to fix my hair since you messed it all up.”  
  
“I like it better this way,” Steve murmured. “It looks nice all disheveled.”

“Yes, I want to go to the restaurant looking like you just ravaged me in the car. Thank you, Steve.”

He burst out laughing. Marcy took advantage of his loosened hold and slipped out.

* * *

 

 

“You can go easy on the bread sticks,” Steve teased. “We haven't even gotten our orders yet.”

Marcy looked down, realizing she had just decimated her third piece. Her body always liked fighting stress with food. It was the reason she always had to keep an eye on her weight.

“Ha, you're right. They're just really good,” she said sheepishly, daintily covering her mouth as if she hadn't suddenly pigged out. It was a half truth, the bread really was quite delicious.

“Is everything okay?” Steve then asked. “You seem distracted.”

She was. She still had a great big secret she had to tell him. When Steve arrived at her home, she had genuinely forgotten about the James issue in the wake of showing off her healing wounds and just being goofy and laughing with Steve. She was quickly reminded of her secret in the car. At first, she thought she would tell him at the restaurant. Then, she worried the news might agitate him. It wasn't a good bomb to drop in the middle of a public setting.

At the end of the night, she decided, she would invite him in and they would have a talk on the couch. She was still trying to figure out exactly how she would tell him. The wording would be crucial to get him to understand why she had kept it a secret all this time. Until then, she would have to pour on the charm before he got too suspicious.  
  
“You know what I was thinking?” she deflected, resting her chin on the back of one hand. “Now that I'm feeling better, we should go out and do other stuff, not just dinner and movies all the time.”  
  
“Yeah?” he asked, one brow raised curiously. “What kind of stuff?”

“I dunno. What about paintballing?”

Steve chuckled. “I would decimate you in paintball.”

“You could _try_ to decimate me,” she challenged back, “if you could find me. But I'm pretty sure they'd let us be on the same team.”

“Have you done it before? Do you even like it?”  
  
“Doesn't hurt to try; maybe I will like it. What kind of things would you want to do?”  
  
Steve blinked at her a moment. Such a question had never crossed his mind. “Things like what?”

“Anything. Base jumping, kite flying, deep sea diving, flower arranging. Anything you want. What do you like to do, Steve?”

Again, Steve blanked at the question. What _did_ he like to do? He recalled when Sam had asked him if he could do anything else besides work for SHIELD, what would he do? Steve still didn't know. He didn't have any interests, any hobbies, he was just... there. Sure, he could face villains and fight for freedom and the innocent day and night; but when the fighting was over, he just sucked up air and thought about the past. Tony had teased him, calling him the most boring man in America. Maybe he was right.  
  
“Well, what did you do when you were young?” Marcy continued to prod. “Before you joined the war; what did you do for fun?”

Steve paused as he thought back. That was another man's lifetime ago. It felt almost like it had happened to another person. “My friends and I would play baseball,” he offered. “We liked to watch the Dodgers play, too.”

“Ah,” Marcy said, looking frozen in her seat and none too happy with the answer.

“You don't like baseball,” Steve surmised.

“Can't say it's my forte. But maybe you should get some guys from SHIELD together and play sometime. It would be fun. Or go with your friend Sam to a game.”

He raised a brow at her. “You won't even come to a game with me?”  
  
She gave a pained look. “I'll come to one game if you promise to buy me any food I want.”

Steve laughed. “Of course you will.”

“And in the meantime, let's try some other things. There's got to be something we both enjoy doing together: cake decorating, barrel racing, dancing...”

“Oh, I can already tell you I can't dance,” Steve cut her off.

“Me, too!” Marcy agreed with excitement. “We should totally take a class so we don't suck!”

Steve found himself grinning again. It was rare for him to not be smiling around Marcy. She brightened up his dull, linear life. She was a rainbow in his plain, white world. Half of what popped out of her mouth surprised him. Every time he saw her she was doing something new. Now, she was pulling him into her multifaceted world and he felt very lucky to be invited along for the ride.

At that moment, the waiter arrived with their plates of steaming pasta. The conversation was put on hold as they received and assessed their orders.

“Okay,” Steve said after they were left to themselves once more. “I'll tell you what: you come to a Dodgers game with me, I'll take a dance lesson with you.”

“Done,” she agreed. “Though some of those lessons aren't just a single-” Movement at the large window behind Steve caught her attention. There stood a man, gazing in at them, watching them. Their eyes met, locked for a solid second, then he quickly walked away into the night. Marcy's blood ran cold and she shot to her feet without thinking.

Steve instantly keyed into her alarm and stood as well. His soldier's instinct to protect kicked in as he followed her haunted gaze to the window. But he saw nothing there.

“Marcy, are you okay?” he asked gently as he moved around the table to touch her arm. “What happened?”

She quickly shook herself and took her seat again, embarrassed at her actions. “Sorry, it's nothing. I just scared the crap out of myself for no reason.” She gave an awkward laugh. Her heart was pounding again. She willed it to not be a panic attack. “I thought I saw a SHIELD agent I used to know walk by the window- one of our agents that died. But it was just someone that kind of looked like them. I feel stupid now.”

Steve seemed unconvinced. He gave her that worried, protective look that she was beginning to dislike whenever he threw it her way. “Are you sure you're okay?”

“I'm fine.” She motioned him to sit down again. “I just startled myself for no reason. Maybe I'm a little stressed or something.” But inside, her heart was still racing. Though she knew it was impossible, Marcy was sure she hadn't been mistaken in who she saw. It was Conner. How was he still alive? She had watched him die.

“Is this... the first time you thought you saw one of your fellow agents who has passed?” Steve asked.

“Yes,” she said with clear irritation in her voice. “And it was a mistake. He just looked like someone I knew; it wasn't really him.”

It was Conner, she knew it was. Why wouldn't she admit it? Why wasn't she telling Steve? Her brain was having trouble processing this information and figuring out the correct response.

Her finger tapped an anxious rhythm on the tabletop before he reached across the table and placed his hand over hers.

“Are you okay? It's fine if you want to leave. We don't have to stay here.”

With her free hand, Marcy pressed it to her chest and let out a few deep breaths. Her heart was slowing down. Good. Steve understood her panic attacks. He was always so patient about it. It made her love him more. She gripped his hand.

“No, I want to stay and eat with you. I'm okay. Just even a small surprise gets the heart racing for a second, you know? I already feel better now.”

Steve watched her carefully, but his shoulders relaxed as she smiled at him. “Okay. Just know I'm here for you if you need anything.”

She grinned. “I know. You tell me all the time, you big marshmallow. Maybe too much.”

“I can never tell you too much,” he insisted with comic seriousness.

She grinned bright, warmed by his expression and his words. God, she was already so ridiculously in love with this man. He probably had no idea how bad she had it for him. She always wanted to do right by him. She never wanted to let him down.

Then why hadn't she told him the truth of what she saw in that window? Because Agent Michael Conner, dead or alive, was a person she never wanted to talk about with Steve. Her next partner after Clint, and her last. She had stupidly fallen for him, too, as her stupid heart fell for all her partners. But Conner had not only rejected her, but took every opportunity to humiliate her in front of her fellow agents. When he was informed of her extra abilities, he seemed to hate her even more.

Marcy had sucked it up with that living hell for as long as she could. It was too embarrassing to admit to Fury why the partnership wasn't working out. Even more embarrassing if she were to talk about it with Steve. He was Captain America, he was perfect. All she wanted to do was impress him so he would never find out how pathetic she was.

And what would Steve even think if she said she saw her _dead_ ex-partner staring at her in the window? And Michael Conner was dead; this was a solid fact. Wounded in the field, Marcy had watched him die as she tried everything she could to keep his heart beating. There was no way the man in the window could be Conner, and yet it also felt like there was no way it couldn't be. Maybe she was going crazy, or maybe it was the guilt and stress of keeping something important from the man across from her playing with her subconscious.

Even though she loved being in the warm light of Steve's affection, she suddenly wished she had agreed to just cut and run so she could go home and figure all this out.

* * *

 

 

When dinner was over, they drove back to Marcy's house. As usual, Steve walked her to her door, lingering as she fished for her keys.

“Do you want me to come in?” he asked.

Usually, the answer was yes. With Steve, “coming in” meant snuggling on the couch and watching a movie or talking all night at the kitchen table while eating snacks. Normally, Marcy would selfishly hoard all the time with Steve she could get. But tonight, her racing brain greatly needed time alone to think.

And she still hadn't told him about Bucky. She wanted to, but she just couldn't stomach that difficult conversation after being frazzled by the ghost of her dead partner all night.

I will tell him tomorrow, she promised herself. After a good night's sleep and I'll be ready to do it. The second I get to work, I'll tell him.

“Sorry, I think I'm going to have to call it a night,” she said with great apology. “You know I love being with you, but I just feel like I need some quiet time to get my brain to shut off.”

Steve, being the amazing person he was, again understood. He liked having his own time alone as well. “It's fine, Marcy. I'll see you tomorrow.”

“Let's do something fun this weekend, okay?” She quickly said, wanting to leave the night on a lighter note.

“Deal,” Steve leaned over to kiss her cheek, but Marcy caught his collar and gave him a proper kiss on the mouth. Steve returned it wholeheartedly before pulling away.

“Good night, Marcy.”

She remained on the porch as he stepped into his vehicle and only shut the door when he began to pull away. Once the door was closed, she leaned against it, suddenly feeling exhausted as she listened to Steve drive away. She already missed him. She liked him in her house. She loved his masculine contrast against her mother’s frilly furniture, she loved his presence among the empty rooms. He made her feel safe and calm; but also guilty.

Tomorrow. She would tell him everything tomorrow and never keep another thing from him again.  
  
The light in Marcy’s kitchen turned on by itself. She froze, holding her breath. Immediately, the image of the man she saw in the window came to mind. Did he follow her home? She had guns in the house, but nowhere near a convenient location. She began to fade when someone from the kitchen spoke.  
  
“It’s just me, Marcy,” came a male voice. “I’m not going to hurt you.”  
  
The voice wasn’t all that familiar, but something about it caused curiosity to outweigh her caution and she crept into the kitchen.  
  
There sat James at the kitchen table, boots propped up by a second chair; as if all Marcy’s thoughts of him had summoned the man out of thin air. He looked near to how she had seen him before: black Kevlar, exposed metal arm, dark eyes and hair. He still had a few days stubble decorating his jaw as if it refused to grow or be cut. Only this time, James seemed healthy and at full form.  
  
“He’s not just your friend anymore, I see,” the man quipped with a smirk.  
  
“James,” Marcy blurted out, her jaw working to find words. “You're here.” She looked him over again and again. “You broke into my house?”

At that question, he dropped his feet from her chair and stood, finally looking contrite for his sudden appearance. “Yeah, sorry about that. You were gone and I didn't--”

Marcy was suddenly hugging him, her arms tight around his torso. He was solid, real. He was everything she remembered. She nearly cried at the confirmation.

“I'm so glad you're here, alive. I worried so much about you. They kept trying to make me believe you weren't real, that I dreamed you up.”

James stood stiffly in her arms, unused to the physical affection. It was so foreign to him, it almost felt like a physical pain. It made his heart ache to be held. It made him ache to be cared about like this.

“I'm real,” he said in a thick voice.

She suddenly pulled back, her hands now on his arms. “Why didn't you say something earlier? Steve was just here. I can call him back. He would love to see you!”  
  
James instantly frowned, backing away from her touch. “If you call him, I'm gone.”

“Are you serious? You would just steal out the window like a mature adult, would you?”  
  
“Just because you trust the old ball and chain, doesn’t mean I do.”  
  
“You trust him,” Marcy accused. “I know exactly who you are, James Buchanan Barnes.”  
  
He winced at the sound of his full name as if the truth physically hurt. “I see.”

She reached out to him again, taking his metal hand in hers. “Thank you for finding me.”  
  
“You left me your address,” James reminded. “Thought I’d take you up on the invitation.”  
  
Marcy suddenly pulled away. “Ugh, you need a shower.” She moved around him, pushing at his back to steer him down the hall toward the bathroom. “You get clean and I’ll order you some food.”  
  
“You’re not going to cook?” he asked with disappointment.  
  
“I would have if you gave me proper notice to stock my fridge. Show up suddenly late at night and you get take out.”  
  
James let it go at that. Hot food was hot food and he couldn’t remember when he last had a real, warm meal. His stomach growled as Marcy shoved a towel at him and shut the bathroom door in his face.  
  
In the stark, white bathroom hemmed with painted seashells and starfish, James couldn’t help but feel he had just fallen into another world. This life of normalcy was not where he lived. He didn’t do kitchens with wooden tables and chairs, bright lights and sterile bathrooms that illuminated all that he was.  
  
As James stared at himself in the mirror, he felt like darkness in a world of white. He was everything the rest of the world was not. He was foreign, weird; a sub species made from pieces of the norm, but unable to trick the normal world into believing he was still a part of it.  
  
Yet, here he was. He did not have to leave his world of shadow and encroach upon the everyday, but he did. He willingly stepped into the real world, willingly risked being spotted and judged by those that weren’t anything like him. And for what? What was he doing there? What had called him to the address hastily written on a ragged piece of paper?  
  
He kicked off his boots and stripped himself from his gear, standing naked before the mirror, appraising himself again. So many pieces of him looked like them, but he felt made of other stuff. The only piece of truth was that metal arm. The arm never lied. It would always tell others that they were not the same; it would always remind James that he was not one of them.  
  
Sick of staring at himself, at the stranger that stared back, James turned on the water, not even waiting for it to get warm before stepping in the tub and pulling the shower curtain closed behind him. He was used to bathing in frigid water, if he was able to bathe at all. But as the liquid grew steamy and hot, James did not move to temper it as his skin grew red.  
  
The hot water found all his little nicks and cuts, scalding them, finding every hurt. But the pain felt good, cleansing. James leaned into the heat, letting it wash away the filth. Maybe it could wash away his darkness and he wouldn’t feel like such an abnormal smudge of black in this white, white room.  
  
When James finally relinquished himself from the world of heat and steam, he found his clothes had been taken while he was in the shower. Strange, he hadn’t noticed Marcy enter at all. But then he remembered her invisibility. She wasn’t all part of the normal world either, was she? Maybe that was why he searched her out again.  
  
In replacement of his regular gear, a pair of gray sweat pants and a black T-shirt waited for him. He dried and dressed, poking his head into the hall. He was greeted by a large gray tabby waiting by the door.  
  
“Well, hello there, furball.”  
  
That cat meowed in greeting before rubbing himself against James' leg. Then he stared at the man expectantly, standing on his hind legs and putting his front paws on the man's knee.  
  
“What do you want, cat? I don't have anything.”  
  
The cat pulled back, but his claws were caught in the cloth, pulling the pants down with it.  
  
“Hey!” James barked, fighting to keep his pants up while disentangling a fifteen pound cat from his person. Once freed, he retreated down the hall, hands protectively holding his waistband, before he could lose any more of his dignity. The smell of cooling Chinese food beckoned him to the kitchen.  
  
Marcy was waiting for him, boxes of takeout on the table. In the meantime, she had changed into a baggy shirt and flannel pajama pants.  
  
“Took you long enough,” she said. “The food's getting cold.”  
  
James wasn't sure how long he stayed in the shower. He had let the sounds of the rushing water take him away from everything. He could be no one at all, just for a while. He may have been no one for nearly an hour.  
  
“Looks like the clothes fit. I thought the two of you would be about the same size.”  
  
“The two of us?” James asked.  
  
“They're Steve's clothes. He left his gym bag here a few days ago.”  
  
James didn't even think about what he was doing as he smelled the cloth on his shoulder. Did the clothes still smell like Steve? Would he smell anything familiar?  
  
“Don't worry, I washed them,” Marcy said, misinterpreting his actions. “Your clothes are being washed right now.” She motioned to the table. “Sit. Eat.”  
  
James didn't need to be ordered twice. He quickly went to work shoveling generous portions onto an offered plate and wolfing it down.  
  
Marcy sat silently next to him as she watched. He had a nice build under the T-shirt. Leaner than Steve from poor diet, but still strong. The recollection of her dream with him came unbidden to her mind and she recalled how his hands felt on her, his breath on her skin, before she could push those ridiculous thoughts away.  
  
Life wasn't fair. Why couldn't she have such a hot dream about Steve instead? She certainly wanted one. Though, she really hadn't had any steamy fantasies awake or dreaming as of lately, not while her body was still healing. Still, it didn't seem fair her subconscious gave her such titillating visions of random men and none with the man she dated.  
  
“You having any?” James asked, interrupting her thoughts.  
  
She blinked at him. “Um, no. I already ate.” With a man she had never had a dirty dream about. Maybe she could fix that if she thought about it hard enough before bed...  
  
“Looks like you bought enough for at least three people,” James pointed out.  
  
“Maybe. If your appetite is anything like Steve's, I think you can handle most of it.”  
  
At the second mention of the blond man's name, James put his head down and became very focused on his food.  
  
“I haven't told him about you,” Marcy said quietly. “I didn't tell Fury, either. All they know is an unidentified man helped me escape Hydra.”  
  
James looked her in the face, waiting until he had finished chewing to ask, “Why?”  
  
“As I said, everyone at SHIELD was quick to write you off as some sort of hallucination. You left no trace and no one saw you. I didn't argue with them. Sometimes I questioned my own recollection of you. To be honest, I just confirmed your identity this afternoon. I didn't know you and Steve had history before then.”  
  
James narrowed his eyes at her in confusion. “And you were out with Steve tonight. Why didn't you tell him?”  
  
Marcy buried her fingers in her hair, letting out a sigh. “It's been a complicated night. Other things came up. I was going to tell him tomorrow at work. What do you want me to do?”  
  
“Nothing.” James shoveled another bite of food into his mouth. “If Steve finds out I'm in town, he'll come after me again. It took everything I had to lose him the last time.”  
  
“May I ask why you don't want him to find you?”  
  
James set his jaw, his brows turned down. “I need time.” He looked down, staring intently at his plate. “Steve doesn't understand what it's like to have someone mess with your head, take all your memories away from you. For the longest time, even after I dragged him from that river, he was just a blur in my head. He was someone I'd rather not think about. And it took some time of me being honest with myself until those real memories started coming back.  
  
“That's why I stay away, because I remember him. I know him. He wants to drag me back to SHIELD, have all their doctors and psychiatrists “fix” me. He thinks once we're together it will be all rainbows and daffodils. We can pretend nothing happened and we'll be best friends again.”  
  
“So, are you saying you're not his friend anymore?”  
  
James raised his head to look her right in the face. “I am always Steve's friend; to the end of the line. But he doesn't get to decide what part of me needs to be fixed. He doesn't get to dictate how I handle Hydra or what they did to me. I deal with my business how I need to deal with it and I don't come home until _I'm_ ready, not when he wants me to.”  
  
“I can understand that,” Marcy said quietly, looking at her hands resting in her lap. “I understand having to do things at your own pace. But Steve understands that, too. You're going to see him sometime, right? You said 'come home'. Steve is your home.”  
  
James breathed out loudly from his nostrils and then gave her a bit of a hopeless look. “I know. I know he's there, I know he'll always be there. But I'm just... I'm just not ready yet.”  
  
“Can I at least give him some sort of message from you? Something to let him know that you're okay?”  
  
“No,” James said instantly. “Not yet. Not... maybe next time, when I come back, I'll tell you what you can say. Promise me you won't tell him until I say so. Promise me.”

She chewed on her lip. She never ever wanted to keep secrets from Steve. Especially something like this.

“Marcy, if you don't promise me right now, I'm out and you will never see me again,” James said with a bit of a growl in his voice.

Her heart broke. This wasn't what she wanted. How was she supposed to help James and still be loyal to Steve?

“I will,” she said carefully. “I will do this if you promise me something in return. Promise me you'll keep coming back, that you'll take care of yourself. If you do that, I...” God she hated saying this. “I will keep this from Steve for now.”  
  
James nodded. “Thank you.”  
  
“Huh.” Marcy suddenly said, turning her head in intrigue as she stared at him closer.  
  
“What?” James asked, mouth full of food.  
  
She reached out, removing a few strands of damp hair from his face. “You have blue eyes. I never noticed before. Your eyes always seemed so...dark.”  
  
James said nothing. Maybe that water had washed away a bit of his darkness after all.

* * *

  
  
Marcy left him at the table to wander the house and come to terms with this new bargain she had made. She wanted to tell Steve so bad. He had been searching desperately for this man for a while, unable to find him. She had James _in her house_. She could text Steve in secret and he would be here in minutes. But what if James figured it out too soon? What if he managed to flee and neither of them ever saw him again? If she could just keep him around, she was sure she could get him to agree to reveal himself. Steve wouldn't fault her for that, would he?  
  
She eventually sat herself on the couch and switched on the TV. She paid little attention to what was on the screen as so many other things swirled around in her head. Her current guest wasn't the only problem she had to worry about right now.  
  
After most of the food was consumed, James wandered in to sit next to her. How strange it was to sit on a padded couch, watching TV. He couldn't recall ever doing such a thing in his lifetime. He took a moment to enjoy the novelty of it before glancing over at Marcy. She had a tablet in her hands and was flipping through various files and pictures.  
  
“What are you doing?” he asked.  
  
Marcy shook her head as if internal thoughts buzzed around her like annoying flies. “Today's just been a weird day all around. I..” She paused and decided to change her train of thought. “You've been keeping an eye on Hydra, right? You've spied on some of their operations?”  
  
“Where and when I can. But you just agreed you weren't going to tell SHIELD that I--”  
  
Marcy cut him off, pushing the tablet in his face. “Did you ever see this man anywhere?”  
  
James studied the SHIELD personnel file. Agent Michael Conner. The man in the photo had a similar build to himself, light brown hair and a small hook-shaped scar above his left brow.  
  
“Is he a missing agent?”  
  
“He's supposed to be a dead agent,” Marcy sighed. “After he was killed in action, we found out he might have actually been one of Hydra's many planted spies. So it would have been great if he were still dead, but... I could have sworn I saw him tonight.”  
  
“Well, you would have been the only one,” James said, handing back the device. “Never seen him before.”  
  
“Maybe my brain made it all up,” she admitted, staring at the profile in her lap. All the stress and guilt was getting to her. She sighed as she tiredly rubbed her face. “Between the two of you, I'm going to get gray hairs before I'm thirty.”  
  
James wasn't sure if she meant between him and the man in the photo or between himself and Steve. He didn't ask.

* * *

 

 

The winters in Brooklyn were harsh and bitter; but when it was summer, it felt like the summer would last forever. When they were small boys, they would be out from dusk until dawn with their bats and their gloves, each bragging how they would make it with the Brooklyn Dodgers before the other. Everything was carefree, easy, perfect.  
  
The boys paused in their game as two police officers walked toward their car, a handcuffed man between them. The man was dressed in black, a strange mask over the lower part of his face, as if he were some viscous animal needing a muzzle.  
  
“Who's that, Bucky?” Steve asked.  
  
“Dunno,” Bucky replied.  
  
The man turned to the two boys and Bucky could see his other arm was made purely of metal. The man had no eyes, just holes of blackness and Bucky stumbled back in fear as the man suddenly broke away, charging toward them. He was no longer handcuffed. Now he somehow had a large gun in his hand and he pointed it at the gaping blond boy.  
  
“Steve!” Bucky screamed, charging forward. He threw himself in the line of fire, the bullet ripping through his body  
.  
Then, the pain was gone, but Bucky was still running. He raced down hallway after hallway, following another person ahead of him. The place was too dark to see who it was, he just knew he had to keep going if he wanted to stay alive.  
  
They seemed to run forever and it was hard to move his legs. The running was slow, the halls so long. But eventually they stopped and paused in the darkness.  
“Is he coming?” Bucky asked in a whisper. “Is it the man with the metal arm? Is he after us?”  
  
“Metal arm?” the other person answered. The voice sounded female. “Look.”  
  
Bucky turned, and in the darkness, he saw himself perfectly reflected in the mirror. Instantly, he recognized the Winter Solder, black mask and all. He was the man with the metal arm.  
  
“It's you,” a female voice said.  
  
Bucky's reflection disappeared and, instead, there stood Marcy, pointing a gun right for his heart.  
  
“You're the problem,” she said flatly and pulled the trigger.  
  
The glass shattered and James woke from his slumber with a sudden inhale of air. Heart still beating a little faster than normal, he found himself curled up on Marcy's couch. Said owner was sleeping on the opposite end, their bare feet mingling in the middle and keeping each other warm. James pulled away, sitting forward and rubbing his face.  
  
It was the dreams again; they were the main reason he refused to go home. At first, when he started to remember, all he ever dreamed about was the lab, the tests, the torture and experiments. But James had come to terms with it. He was angry what had been done to him, but he accepted who he was now, where he was now.  
But his dreams of recalling a horrific past quickly molded into nightmarish fiction. The few times James allowed himself enough sleep to dream, they were always about Steve and the monster with the metal arm. That thing that did not know his friend's face, that almost killed him when Steve was only trying to save him from himself.  
  
James, Bucky, whatever he wanted to call himself now, wasn't ready to face the world until he had fully expunged the monster from himself.  
  
A soft sigh caught his attention and Marcy stirred. She stretched with a yawn, hair sticking to the side of her face. “Morning.”  
  
James glanced at her. “Nice toes.”  
  
She wriggled her pink toes and then stretched her legs in the space his had abandoned. “I guess we both were tired. Did you sleep well?”  
  
James didn't say anything. Troubling dreams aside, it had been the first time he had been able to sleep all night long since the cabin. He hadn't even meant to sleep here, he had just dozed off. What was it about this woman that helped calm that anxious feeling always digging in his chest? How was she always able to break down his guard and allow him to rest?  
  
Marcy didn't wait too long for an answer before glancing at the clock on the wall. “Yikes. I've got to get ready for work. If you stick around, I'll make you breakfast.”  
As she went down the hall to get dressed, she hoped that would be enough to entice James to stay a while longer. But as she emerged from her bedroom, ready for the day, she found he had already slipped out without a trace.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


	15. When it Rains it Pours

**Faded**

**Chapter 15: When it Rains it Pours**

Fury had called her to his office and Marcy’s heart beat at twice its speed the entire elevator ride to the top floor. He knew. He had to know she asked Natasha to snoop around for her. Natasha may have even told him herself. Black Widow’s loyalty to Fury was far stronger than whatever fidelity she felt she owed Marcy.  
  
But Marcy had no choice at the time. She felt she couldn’t trust SHIELD to give her the whole truth if she just asked. And Natasha was the best there was at finding information no one else could. Marcy had been playing a very tricky game and she had lost.  
  
When she stepped into Fury’s office, she was ready to accept the fact she may not have a job after this conversation. The large double doors closed behind her and the walk along the massive SHEILD emblem carpet toward the desk seemed like a journey in and of itself.  
  
Fury stood at the floor-to-ceiling window, his back to her. “Agent Gray, please take a seat,” he said without turning to look at her.  
  
Marcy timidly sat in the plush, black leather chair, feeling like a child with a list of infractions and having no idea to which offense she was going to be punished. It could be anything. It could be nothing. She tried to keep her poker face on until she knew what Fury knew.  
  
“Do you know why I called you here?” he asked, finally turning around.  
  
“You didn’t say,” she said neutrally, face blank. Secretly she was sweating.  
  
Fury sat himself at his desk. The distance between them felt a mile wide. “When our agents go digging around in our files for certain things, I’m sent a notification if they happen to be subjects in which they shouldn’t be digging.”  
  
Marcy swallowed, but said nothing.  
  
“Agent Romanoff was nosing around in such files. When I confronted her, she said she was conducting research on your behalf on a former SHIELD employee: Dr. Leroy Steadman.”  
  
Marcy glanced up, surprised that the man had been a SHIELD employee, but also not surprised. She quickly looked down at her lap again when she saw Fury’s stern look.  
  
“Why didn’t you come to me about this?” Fury then asked.  
  
Again, Marcy said nothing. She didn’t know what she could say.  
  
“You didn’t trust us to be honest with you,” Fury concluded, his voice surprisingly softer.  
  
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know who would tell me the truth,” she finally said in a quiet voice, eyes still down. “I saw him there in that lab and how he talked to me… I started to remember things- from when I was young. But no one ever told me about this. Not SHIELD, not my mother. And if he worked for SHIELD, I didn’t know who I could trust. I just wanted more information before I figured out where to go next.”  
  
It was silent in the room for several moments before Fury spoke.  
  
“I want you to know Agent Gray, Marcy, that I wasn’t the director of SHIELD then. If I was, I would have never let it happen.”  
  
She glanced up at him, eyes wide as a cold fear washed over her. “Let what happen?” she said, barely more than a whisper.  
  
“When you were young, you remember your mother would bring you to SHIELD Central while she worked.”  
  
“Yeah, sometimes I’d sleep in the bunkers while Mom was in the field. Agent…Rey-something, Reynolds or Raymond, would take me to school.”  
  
“It was those nights when Steadman would take you to his lab,” Fury said. “He was obsessed with the Ghost Project. He thought he would be the one to perfect it through study of your DNA. But when Claudia wouldn’t allow you to be tested, Steadman found ways around it.”  
  
Marcy furrowed her brows in confusion. “But, I don’t remember any of that.”  
  
“Steadman would wipe your mind after his tests so you wouldn’t.”  
  
She suddenly felt cold inside. “What… what exactly did he do to me?”  
  
Fury sighed. “We don’t know the extent, but we believe he took several blood and tissue samples and tested your reaction to pain. He was very careful not to leave any physical evidence of abuse.  
  
“Your mother, however, began to be suspicious and put you under secret observation while she left you in our care. Steadman was caught taking you down to his lab and arrested when we found his research. Though only a small portion of his notes were recovered. He had been sending all his findings to someone else.”  
  
“Hydra,” Marcy said.  
  
“When Steadman was being transferred to a holding facility, he disappeared in transit. We had never heard from him since until your capture.”  
  
Even though Fury was being forthright with all this information, Marcy couldn’t help but still feel like she had been betrayed.  
  
“Why didn’t anyone tell me this? After I was taken? When I was a kid? I didn’t know anything about this guy.”  
  
“It was Claudia’s call. She insisted we never tell you what happened. Your memories had already been wiped. She didn’t want you to have to live with what happened to you.”  
  
Marcy rubbed her temples, trying to digest all this new information. Some of this made sense. She remembered a time in her childhood when her mother started to change her attitude toward SHIELD. She liked her job, but she stopped letting Marcy stay there overnight. And she would tell her daughter to never trust anyone fully, not even the people she worked for.  
  
“Someone should have told me. When I became an adult- or at least after this last incident. I deserve to know this, don’t I?”  
  
“Yes,” Fury said as he stood and walked around his desk, “you do. However, the question is, how much do you really want to know?”  
  
He pressed a small drive into her hands.  
  
“What’s this?” Marcy asked.  
  
“One of Steadman’s sessions with you as a child. It’s the only video record we found. You may watch it if you wish, but you don’t have to.”  
  
Marcy stared at the small device, trepidation fluttering in her chest like a trapped moth. “Have… you seen it?”  
  
“I have,” Fury said.  
  
“What happens in it?”  
  
“Perhaps something you don’t really need to know, Agent. Whatever happened then, you’re here now, you’re okay. Digging up the past won’t change that, it will only bring you grief you don’t need.”  
  
Marcy stared hard at the drive, as if willing its wisdom to her without the pain of watching its files.  
  
“The decision is up to you, Agent Gray.”

* * *

 

“You have an office, you know. It would be so much easier to find you if you used it.”  
  
Steve looked up from his studies at the sound of the familiar female voice. Natasha slid into the chair next to him. They were currently in SHIELD’s computer lab, which was a learning facility that took up an entire floor at HQ. The learning center was opened 24 hours for the use of its agents, offering an array of automatic classes to increase their intellectual prowess in the field. Subjects ranged from science, mathematics, various languages, forensics and all that was in between.  
Steve had been taking advantage of what classes he could, whenever he could, especially those that brought him up to speed on the current times. Whenever he had nothing to do, he usually spent his time learning.  
  
“Never had use for an office,” Steve said, glancing away from his computer screen for only a moment. “Soldiers don’t need offices.”  
  
“Oh, come on,” Natasha urged. “it’s a fun place to hang pictures and put up knickknacks and get away from all the craziness once in a while.”  
  
“Except, according to you, my office is the first place people go to look for me,” Steve countered, still not giving her his full attention.  
  
“Ever had sex on a desk?” Natasha asked flippantly. “It’s not bad.”  
  
Steve breathed out loudly and made an exaggerated show of finally turning toward her and giving her his full attention. “What do you want?”  
  
She grinned at him. Teasing him was one of her favorite past times. “Just wondering if you’ve talked to Marcy lately?”  
  
“Talked to her about what? And don’t say alternate uses for office furniture.”  
  
Natasha ignored the comment. “I thought so. She said she was going to tell you, but if she had said anything by now, I’m assuming you wouldn’t be sitting in here, surfing the internet.”  
  
“What exactly was she supposed to tell me?”  
  
Natasha sighed. She knew she shouldn’t get in the middle of this, but she also knew Steve deserved to know. She was in too deep; she couldn’t back out now.  
“It’s about when Hydra took Marcy. The Winter Soldier was the one who saved her.”

* * *

 

Marcy sat in her office, door shut, staring blankly at the computer screen. The flash drive had been plugged in several minutes ago. It waited with a patiently blinking light: CLICK TO OPEN FILE. Marcy hadn’t touched it yet, she was still trying to summon the nerve.  
  
Fury told her she could go home if she wished, take a day to process the information. Marcy had left without giving a definite answer of her plans. She still didn’t know what she was going to do. If she was going to watch the file, she should do it at home. But she didn’t want to go home, she didn’t want to wait. Now that she was here, however, she didn’t want to look.  
  
What would her mother want her to do? That answer was clear enough. Her mother didn’t want her to find out about this ever. She wouldn’t want Marcy to watch the video. But what would her mother have done in her place? Marcy’s mother was fearless, immovable. If it were her, she would have watched it.  
  
Marcy clicked the icon. The video file opened and began to play.  
  
It revealed a sterile room, camera pointed at a medical cabinet on the wall. A man’s voice, hauntingly familiar, spoke into the mic.  
  
“We are now ready to begin. The subject is... how old are you, honey?”  
  
The camera turned, landing on a young girl with brown hair strapped to a metal table. The surface was tilted upright, the shackles holding the girl off the floor. She wore pale purple pajama bottoms and a matching top, a worried expression on her face. Marcy remembered having those pajamas.  
  
“Um, I'm nine,” said the girl.  
  
Marcy stared and stared. She knew it was her younger self in the video, but she could not force her brain to remember when this happened.  
“Where's my mom?” the girl then asked.  
  
“She can't be here during the tests,” Dr. Steadman's voice said, calm and cold. “But you'll see her when we're finished. It won't take long, alright?”  
  
Young Marcy swallowed and nodded. She knew something wasn't right. But she knew she should do what adults- especially doctors- told her to do.  
“Alright then,” Steadman continued, “let's get started.”  
  
Beyond the camera's view there was a familiar, sickening whir of electricity. A device, very similar to the one Marcy saw at Hydra's base in the Rockies, was wheeled in. It was an electric generator, a small metal rod attached with a long piece of wire. The back of Dr. Steadman's head could now be seen as he moved closer to the girl with his device.  
  
“Now, we're going to see how you react to a small electrical stimulus. Just a quick shock.”  
  
He lifted up the girl's shirt just enough to reveal the pale skin at her side and gave her a quick tap with the metal rod. Young Marcy gave a yelp as her body fazed in and out in the blink of an eye.  
  
As Marcy watched the scene, a phantom pain began to form at her side in the same place. Empathy pangs and the memory of spazzing muscles from her capture vibrated in her body. Something niggled at her memory, and with it came trepidation.  
  
“That hurt,” nine-year-old Marcy complained.  
  
“It's all part of the test,” Steadman said, unconcerned. “Don't worry, you won't remember any of this. I am now increasing the voltage and we'll see how she reacts to a slightly longer exposure.”  
  
“No! I don't want it!” The little girl began to cry.  
  
“You bastard, she's nine!” Marcy growled at the computer. Tears stung her eyes. This is what he did to her on several occasions. It happened right under SHIELD's nose and she remembered none of it.  
  
Her office door was suddenly thrust open without a knock. Marcy quickly fumbled around to close the file as Steve burst into the room.  
“You lied to me,” he accused.  
  
Marcy just blinked at him, eyes wet and brain stumbling to catch up with what was going on in the here and now.  
  
“You said you didn't know who the man was who saved you at Hydra. You said maybe he wasn't real. But you purposefully left out a very obvious physical trait that would have helped us identify him.”  
  
Marcy's heart picked up again. Steve knew. Natasha must have told him. Now he was mad. At her.  
  
“You knew it was Bucky up there, but you deliberately didn't tell any of us,” Steve said.  
  
When it was obvious he was finally going to let her speak, she worked her jaw for a moment, trying to find the words.  
  
“I didn't know who he was when I met him. I had no idea. He said he didn't want SHIELD to know where he was and he had saved my life, Steve. I was trying to help him.”  
  
“Letting him continue to wander the mountains lost and alone is not helping him,” Steve retorted angrily. “He needs to come home. He needs help.”  
  
“He seemed fine and fully self-sufficient when I saw him,” Marcy responded. She mentally told herself to calm her emotions. Take the video file home and deal with it there. In the meantime, remain practical with Steve and this would sort itself out. “I didn't know who he was- that he was your friend- until yesterday.”  
  
Steve leaned over her desk, his blue eyes level with hers. “I was with you all night. Why didn't you tell me then? Were you ever going to tell me?”  
  
Marcy sighed. “I was trying to figure out how to say it. I thought you would be mad at me. And James, he... I wanted to do right by him, too. He was scared to be found. He didn't want to see anybody. I thought it was better if maybe we all believed it never happened and he would be left alone.”  
  
The inference that Bucky didn't want to see him only seemed to make Steve more irritated. “That's not your call. You should have told us all the truth from the beginning anyway. You should have told _me_ the truth. We're in a relationship, we're supposed to be honest with each other.”  
  
“We weren't in one when I was brought home,” Marcy reminded. “And I didn't know who he was. I was trying to protect him until I had more answers.”  
  
Steve shoved away from the desk. It slid a few inches toward her despite how heavy it was. “You have all your answers now and you still didn't confide in me. You don't care about Bucky, you just like having your secrets, like the rest of SHIELD.”  
  
That hurt. Steve wasn't the only one who had been a victim of SHIELD's secretive nature. She had also made a promise to James- Bucky- and she wasn't about to break her promise just because Steve was a little upset. He would get over it and, eventually, James would sort himself out and come home. Then, this whole conversation wouldn't have mattered anymore.  
  
“I care about him, too. He saved my life, Steve. I know he's a good person and I'm trying to help him. This is the best way I know how. This is what he wants me to do.”  
  
Steve, who had been pacing the room, suddenly stared at her in realization. “You know something else, don't you? Something you haven't told anyone. What is going on? Tell me.”  
  
Marcy said nothing. Even saying she promised not to say anything would be breaking her word to James. He said he would take care of himself, that he would keep coming back as long as she kept her mouth shut; so her mouth stayed closed.  
  
The silence only frustrated Steve more. He breathed loudly out of his nose as his temper flared. “Fine. Whatever you're hiding is clearly more important than me- than us. I've had enough of secrets and lies from everyone else. I don't put up with it from the people who are close to me.” He leaned over the desk again to look her in the face. “I don't want to be with someone who won't tell me the truth.”  
  
Marcy searched his face, looking for the meaning of his words. Was this really happening? Was everything falling apart so fast? “Are you saying you're breaking up with me?”  
  
“I am if you don't tell me what's going on.”  
  
Suddenly, her hurt turned to anger. “You don't trust me?”  
  
Leaning his weight on the desk's surface, Steve hung his head, breathing out slow and deep. “No, I guess I don't.”  
  
Marcy was shaking. Her own temper flared and she wanted to yell back at him that he was being an ass and he needed to calm the hell down. But she loved him. And she knew he was hurting because of her. She didn't want to say anything else that hurt him more.  
  
And she was hurt, too. Hurt by him, hurt by all the sudden secrets that were kept from her as well. She couldn't deal with that many pains at a time. She quickly grabbed her laptop, portable drive and all, and whisked out of the room.  
  
Steve tried to block her. Apparently, he wasn't done yelling. But Marcy faded from sight and slipped down the myriad of hallways without a sound. She heard Steve yelling her name as she fled, but she was done. Hurt and angry, she left SHIELD Central and went home.  
  
She spent the rest of the day pacing her house in anger and frustration, replaying their conversation over and over in her head. She thought of a myriad different things she could have said to change the conversation so Steve would have never had the chance to give her an ultimatum. Then she went over all the things she could have said to break up with him first so he would have never seen it coming.  
  
Either way she hated it, she hated the whole thing. She wished she had just listened to Fury in the first place and gone home to deal with her other problem. Then she could have at least dealt with her past trauma before having to endure the heartsickness of her breakup. It was too much to handle all at once and Marcy didn't know what else to do but stalk her halls and switch between a roller coaster of self pity and anger.  
  
Marcy hadn't even bothered to watch the rest of the video file. She couldn't handle any more right now. She was too wired and anxious to sit down long enough to watch anything. Eventually, she couldn't even stand being at home. She changed from her work slacks into baggy jeans and sneakers, grabbed a jacket and fled the house for the city, desperate for something to get her mind off her troubles.

* * *

 

 

“It must have been love,” Marcy sang sadly to a group of uncomfortable karaoke patrons, “but it's over now. It must have been good, but I lost it somehow.” She was sniffling now, a tear streaming down her face before she made it to the end of the song. “It must have been love, but it's over now. From the moment we touched, until the time had run out. Must have been love, but it's over now...”

The music faded out and there was a bit of silence before a few people clapped awkwardly, glancing at each other.

Marcy didn't care as she trudged off the stage, handing the mic back to the DJ.

“Hey babe, cool it with the sad songs, okay?” the DJ, a man of thick build and plentiful facial hair, said to her. “You're making everyone else uncomfortable.”  
“Fine,” Marcy sniffed. “I'll just order another cheeseburger.”

“Haven't you had two already?” the DJ asked. “You know, it's none of my business, but when most people go through a bad breakup, they hit a bar, get nice and drunk, and find themselves a hot rebound.”

“I can't drink, I'll just throw it up,” Marcy sighed. “The food stays with me forever. It is proper punishment.”  
  
“Whatever,” the DJ responded. That chick is batshit crazy, he thought to himself as Marcy trudged back to her table.

A group of girls were eager to get onto the stage and sing something upbeat as if to wash away the poor performance before them. Marcy didn't care as she sat down and shoved a few cold fries in her face. She checked her phone to see what time it was and found three missed calls: two from Clint, one from Natasha. Her phone rang again, Clint once more, and she ignored it and went back to her food.

* * *

 

 

“She's still not answering,” Clint said as he shoved his phone back into his pocket. “Twenty bucks says she's singing sad songs right now, wearing her fat pants and putting on ten pounds.”

Natasha stood nearby, bow and arrow in her hands as she lined up the target. “Part of this is my fault. I should have kept my mouth shut and let her tell you when she was ready.” She let the arrow fly. It hit in the target in one of the inner rings. “But it's mostly _your_ fault,” she added to the tall blond soldier standing next to her.

“How is this my fault?” Steve protested. “She kept important things from me. She's the liar.”

“And you're a child,” Natasha accused with a sharp look. “You had a fight. You're supposed to talk about it, work it out, not dump her the first time she does something you don't like. That's not how mature relationships work.”

Steve gaped at her for a while, feeling a bit betrayed. Since Natasha had been the one to tell him, he assumed she would take his side. He turned to Clint for some male support.

“So I'm supposed to stay in a relationship with someone who willfully lies to me?”  
  
Clint wished Steve wasn't looking at him. He didn't want to be in the middle of this. He kept his eyes on the target and fluidly shot three arrows, one right after the other in perfect succession. They all battled for space in the center of the target.

If Natasha had kept certain information to herself, all four of them would be down there now, spending time in SHIELD's indoor archery range. It was meant to be a somewhat double date until Steve showed up alone and informed them of the breakup. Now Clint was left with three different sides to a problem and trying not to take any of them.

Steve stubbornly refused to back down even though Clint wasn't answering or even looking at him. “So you would be okay if Natasha kept important information from you like that?”

Clint glanced over at the redhead. “Tasha keeps information from everyone. It's her job.”  
  
“Okay, fine. Poor example. You knew the type of person she was when you two got involved and you're okay with that. But this is not what I signed up for. I had a right to know about Bucky, and she deliberately kept it from me. That's not the kind of person I want to be with.”  
  
“And you will mold your girl into the person you want her to be or you toss her,” Natasha cut in, her voice sharp. “When you get with someone, you take the good with the bad and you _talk_ to them when someone makes a mistake. Do you even know _why_ she didn't tell you about Bucky? You think she likes to keep important things from you for fun?”

It took a moment for Steve to recover from the sudden assault. “She said she was trying to protect Bucky, but-”

“So looking out for your best friend is a quality you _don't_ want in a girlfriend?” Natasha pressed, getting into his space. “If she's trying to help Barnes, then she must have thought telling you about him was going to hurt him. Why do you think that is, Rogers?”

Steve just blinked and moved his jaw. He hadn't thought of it like that. He couldn't think fast enough to come up with an answer.

“And when you threatened to break up with her, Marcy still didn't tell you anything else, did she?”

Steve still had no response.  
  
“You wanted to trample her integrity for your whims and she wouldn't do it. I wouldn't have done it, either.” Natasha gave him a disgusted look. “You don't want a girlfriend, you want a dog. Something that will mindlessly do your bidding. You're hopeless, Rogers. She's better off without you.”

Steve clenched his jaw. He still had nothing to say, but that didn't stop him from storming out of the room.

Natasha sighed as she watched him go. When they were alone, she turned to Clint who was still insisting on keeping his sights on the target. He was never good with personal confrontation like that.

“Well, that was some tough love. But I hope it gets through his thick head and he changes his mind.”

“Why did you get involved, Tasha?” Clint asked. There was no accusation in his voice, he was genuinely curious. “They probably would have sorted it out on their own eventually.”

Natasha sighed. “Probably. But I... I don't like keeping secrets from Steve. Not one like that.”

Clint snorted in disbelief.

“Hey, Steve's different. He expects the best and the truth from people. And... and he saved my life. During the Project Insight incident, we got closer. I started to understand him better. We became friends. He's like... he's like my Marcy. I want to keep doing right by him the best I can.”

That was something Clint could understand. “I don't think it matters either way,” he said softly as he threaded another arrow. “I didn't expect them to last anyway.”

Natasha instantly took on the offensive again. “What? Why not? You told me they looked cute together.”

“They do.” Clint lined up the arrow in his sights, one a hundred yards in the back. He took his time to feel the tightness of the bow string. “Cute like the picture of a greeting card, but there was never anything beyond that.” He let go and the arrow once again found its target. “They've been dating for three months and nothing's changed. There's no spark, no longing. Do you remember how we were even three _weeks_ in?”

Natasha smirked a little at the memories of hot skin and slippery sheets in the darkness. “Yeah, but this is Steve we're talking about. You know he's old fashioned.”  
  
“Still, just because a guy doesn't touch his girl, doesn't mean he doesn't want to. He does nothing but hold her hand, let her lean her head on his shoulder, but inside he still hopes there will be a time when he can have her to himself; taste her skin, hear her breathe his name. Steve never looked at Marcy like that. They were like two non-sexual entities orbiting each other. It either had to change or it was going die.”

Natasha sighed. Clint was probably right. It was a shame. The two seemed good for each other. “Alright. Well, let's find Marcy before she embarrasses herself.”  
  
“Knowing her, that's probably already happened,” Clint added, pulling out his phone. “ Let's just find her before she puts herself in a food coma. I'll put a GPS tracker on her phone's location. She's probably at a karaoke bar.”

“What is it with you two and karaoke? No matter the occasion, that's where you go.”

Clint wagged an arrow at her, his smile charming. “Karaoke is for all occasions, babe.”

* * *

 

 

Marcy supposed she had enough of wallowing in self pity and finally decided to leave the karaoke bar. Her stomach was so full, she practically waddled to the car. Not that she was in a hurry to leave. The only other place she could go was home and she wasn't much looking forward to sitting in that silent house all alone. With no one around, she would have no choice but to lay in the darkness and cry. That thought was still too depressing to entertain.

Maybe she could drive around instead; go to a park and wander around for a bit. Normally not a safe idea for a woman to wander the park alone at night, but she could fade herself and no one would bother her. Walking around in the night, alone, invisible. Yeah, that wasn't even more depressing. Or creepy.

Marcy sighed at her own pathetic existence as she fished her pockets for her keys. She would figure something out. She had ridden through enough heartache, she would survive this, too. She just needed time and the sting would eventually fade away.

As she approached the car door, her keys snagged on the pocket and she had to fight a little to free them. As she did so, she noticed a man coming up behind her in the vehicle's side mirror. He wasn't just another patron in the parking lot. This man's face was trained on her with a look of intent and he was headed right for her.

She remained calm, her back turned as if she hadn't noticed. This was one New York mugger that was going to get more than he bargained for. He suddenly rushed Marcy, thinking he had caught her off guard. She abruptly disappeared before his eyes.

That act alone should have startled any common place hoodlum into rethinking his tactics, but this man didn't even slow down. He sliced at the place where she stood, large blade in his hand.  
  
Marcy dodged, but the blade nicked her in the arm, slicing through her jacket. The pain surprised her enough to wink back into visibility. Her attacker had a grin of satisfaction as he lunged again. Marcy saw he wore military grade gear under the long trench coat. This was no civilian. He had to be Hydra!

She whipped around, kicking the blade out of the man’s hand. Then she disappeared to punch him in the throat. The man went down, clutching his neck and gasping for air. A hail of bullets scraped the side of her car and Marcy dropped flat to the ground. Her body protested the fast reflexes with all the junk food she had packed away that night.  
  
Another barrage of bullets raked over the ground and Marcy rolled her body under the vehicle. She was still invisible. The gunman was trying to find her. She rolled to the other side and took off running, her form still undetectable with the naked eye. Again, her body protested the exercise. The extra weight slowed her down. If those guys could see her, they would have easily caught up.  
  
She ran for a dark alley way. If she could make it, she would be safe. But as she entered, something clothes-lined her hard in the throat and her feet flew out from under her. Her image flickered back to the visible eye as she landed on her back on the concrete, breath knocked out of her. She gasped like a landed fish as a form bent over her. Where had that guy come from? She hadn’t noticed anyone standing in the alley.  
  
“Hello, Marcy” the figure said. “It’s been a long time. And what an interesting development this is.”  
  
Marcy was still gaping for a whole other reason when she saw the face. It was the same heartless grin, the same scar over the eye as her last partner. His complexion was a bit ashen compared to a healthy skin tone, but other than that he looked very much alive.  
  
“Conner,” she coughed. “You died. I saw you.”  
  
Former SHIELD Agent Michael Conner placed a heavy boot on her abdomen, causing her to grunt in pain as she was pinned down. “Yes, Marcy, as usual, you did a shitty job of trying to kill me.”  
  
“I didn’t,” she managed to choke out. “I tried to resuscitate you. I tried.”  
  
Conner didn’t seem too concerned about it either way as he pulled out his gun, aiming it for her head. “Well then, you did a shitty job of that, too. Though I do have to thank you, if it weren’t for you, Hydra wouldn’t have given me a second lease on life. And I wouldn’t be able to do this.”  
  
At the last word, he disappeared from her view. Marcy could still feel the heavy boot pressing down on her organs. He reappeared, an obnoxious smile of triumph on his face. “Guess you’re not the only kid on the block that can do that trick now.”  
  
“How?” Marcy sputtered. “The process should have killed you.”  
  
Conner’s response chilled her to the bone. “It would have, if I hadn’t already been dead first.” He flicked off the safety of his gun, training it on her forehead. “So you see, Marcy, none of this could have been possible without you. You have no one to blame for this bullet through your brain but you.”  
  
The sound of a bullet whizzing by cut the air before Conner jerked back, his shoulder taking the impact. The gun flew from his hand and skidded under a dumpster. Marcy kicked up, hooking the leg that pinned her down with her own. She swept a stunned Conner off his feet before jumping to her own, instantly fading from sight.  
  
Conner stumbled to his feet. Checking his shoulder, he found it to be bleeding, but it otherwise didn’t bother him much. Even poking the bloody wound didn’t really disturb him; he felt little to no pain at all. “Well that’s even more interesting,” he grinned and promptly disappeared as well.  
  
Marcy stumbled back in alarm. Even though Connor had faded, she could still see him, barely. He was a flicker of a silver silhouette when he moved. Unfortunately, if she could see him, that meant he could still see her. He leveled his eyes on her with a hungry grin.  
  
Connor charged. Marcy tensed, her muscles exploding in a variety of ducks and dodges as his fists flew for her face. She blocked as best she could, but was out of shape, quickly running out of breath. A few more dodges and strikes and Marcy couldn’t hold the fade any more. It was too much to try to concentrate on her invisibility and fight at the same time. She became visible and Conner was not. She did not see the fist surging for her gut and she folded over in pain upon the impact.  
  
“Losing your touch, Marcy,” said Connor's disembodied voice. “But then, you were always pathetic.”  
  
Marcy was still gasping in pain. She knew he was going to hit her again and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She couldn't see him coming. She could only close her eyes and wait for the blow.  
  
A steel pipe whistled through the air and there was a clang as metal collided with skull. Connor's body was suddenly visible to the naked eye as he fell to the ground unconscious. Above him stood a man dressed in dark pants and a brown jacket to hide his own artillery that he carried. His brown hair was long and shaggy, his face unkempt.  
  
“Woah, I got him.” It was James. He had been the one to shoot Connor in the shoulder. “You okay, Marcy?”  
  
She tried to respond, but her stomach roiled in pain. It built and boiled until it finally exploded and she threw up. James jumped back before her stomach contents could splatter his boots. It was a few more dry heaves and coughs before she could answer.  
  
“I've been better,” she rasped; then stared with remorse at the bile on the ground. “Aw man, I paid good money for those burgers.”  
  
Gun shots peppered the brick wall by their heads as Connor's companions finally clued in to where the fighting was.  
  
James grabbed her by the wrist, yanking her further into the alley. “We've got to go, now!”  
  
Marcy scrambled after him, trying to will her feet to keep up with the pace. He was faster than her, practically dragging her behind him. Bullets continued to ricochet around them. James pulled them behind a dumpster, returning fire with a small hand gun.  
  
“How did you know I was here?” Marcy demanded. “Have you been tailing me?”  
  
“You said you saw some guy hanging around who might be Hydra,” he replied conversationally through the firefight. The two other Hydra agents ducked around the corner for cover from his attack. “I thought I'd watch you for a few days, see if anything suspicious cropped up.”  
  
That meant he knew how long she had been in that karaoke bar, alone. Did every man in her life need a thorough knowledge of how pathetic she was?  
“Why didn't you just stay at my place, then? Instead of creeping on me? I thought you were long gone.”  
  
“It would have done no good. If I stayed, they would have spied on both of us. It was better if they didn't know I was around.” James retrieved a larger weapon from his jacket. It was impressive to note he could hide something that size on his person. He shot a canister into the mouth of the alley where the Hydra agents were stationed. It released a foul cloud of smoke, choking the space around it.  
  
“Go, go!” James urged.  
  
Marcy stumbled for the opposite end of the alley, James pushing her faster with urgency.  
  
The Hydra agents let out shouts of outrage when they saw the two getting away through the thinning smoke. They lurched forward to pursue and the canister exploded at their feet. Marcy could feel the heat from the explosion before James bodily shoved her around the corner and they were off, running as fast as they could down the street.  
  
“Any more of them?” Marcy panted as James passed her, grabbing her arm and pulling her forward again.  
  
“With Hydra, you never know how many,” he responded.  
  
“Haven't you been watching them? That's why you were tailing me.”  
  
“If I had known they were out there, I would have told you sooner,” James said as he pulled her around another corner. “I saw them for the first time about when you did.”  
  
Marcy tore her arm from his grasp, though she kept running as she fished her cellphone from her pocket. “If you didn't see them while you were watching me, that means they've been able to keep tabs on me from a longer distance; which means they're able to track me somehow. Most likely by my cell phone. I gotta ditch it.”  
  
“So ditch it,” James urged. “Let's get out of here.”  
  
Marcy growled at her lack of time. There was something she had to do first, she needed to act fast. Glancing around, she saw a city bus pull up nearby and tugged on her companion's jacket. “There. Go.”  
  
They both hurried to the bus, casting quick glances all around the street before boarding. None of the Hydra agents seemed to have caught up with them yet. They fell into an empty seat, panting as the bus drove off.  
  
James glanced over to see Marcy fiddling with her phone. “That trick isn't going to last for long if they can track you. Get rid of the phone before they have the chance to send out the next wave.”  
  
“I know,” Marcy said, “Just hold on.”  
  
She quickly flipped through her contacts and sent one brief text. Then, she tucked the phone in the small crack between the seat and the side of the bus. Upon the next stop, Marcy motioned to James to get up and they disembarked, leaving the phone behind. From then on, they were off the grid as they disappeared into the darkness of the city's nightlife.

* * *

  
  
Clint had just climbed into the passenger seat of a SHIELD-issued vehicle. Something a little less conspicuous and more pedestrian than their usual black SUVs. Natasha was in the driver's seat. She usually was the one to drive when the two were together. Clint didn't mind at all. He hated driving and would always have someone else do it if he could help it.  
  
They were just heading out of the garage when the cell phone in his pocket vibrated. Clint fished it out and checked the screen. “She finally got back to me,” he muttered as he opened the text message.  
  
“So what does she say?” Natasha asked as they waited on traffic to turn onto the main road.  
  
Clint was quiet just long enough for her to pick up that what he received was no ordinary text.  
  
“Tasha, we might have a problem.”  
  
“What do you mean?” she asked.  
  
Clint showed her the screen. The text contained a simple sentence: _It's Going to be Dark soon._

 

 

 


	16. Going Dark

**Faded**

**Chapter 16: Going Dark**

  
  


“I swear, if she's doing this just so she can mope alone, I’m going to strangle her,” Natasha said as she drove.  
“No, Marcy's in trouble,” Clint said. “She wouldn’t engage protocol just to pout, she knows better.”  
  
It had been a few minutes since they had received her cryptic text: It's Going to be Dark soon. Going Dark. It was a code word used by SHIELD operatives when one found themselves tailed by the enemy and unable to get away safely. The protocol was to get rid of any and all equipment that could be tracked and go completely off the grid in order to shake their tails: to go dark.   
  
“I really hope you’re right. Because if she’s pulling off these shenanigans to be selfish, then she’s just as childish as Steve is and… she…” Natasha trailed off as they neared the parking lot that housed the karaoke bar. The place was littered with New York police, flashing lights and yellow cordon tape everywhere.  
  
The black SUV paused before the spectacle, the two passengers taking in the scene. Soon, an officer adamantly waved them on to keep moving and Natasha pulled away, circling the block.  
  
“Well, it’s safe to say she didn’t disappear without a reason,” Clint said as he pulled out his cellphone. The last time he checked Marcy’s location was this karaoke bar. He didn’t really expect her to be anywhere else. Now, he once again referred to the GPS signal of her cell.  
  
“She’s currently traveling along a city bus route, making the same stops. What do you want to bet we’ll find her phone on that bus, but not her?”  
Natasha found a place to park across the street from the scene. “Call Fury, let him know what’s going on,” she said as she got out of the car.  
  
“ _We_ don’t even know what’s going on,” Clint protested.  
  
“We will in a moment,” Natasha said, and jogged through traffic toward the cordoned parking lot.  
  
Clint sighed as he thumbed through his contacts and dialed.  
  
“Yes, Barton?” Fury’s voice came at the second ring. Clint put the cell on speaker.  
  
“Chief, we’ve got a situation. Agent Gray’s gone dark. Black Widow and I went to her last known location and there’s cops everywhere. Something big went down.”  
He rattled off the address of the incident and soon heard Fury’s fingers flying over the keyboard at his desk. Probably looking up the records of any 911 calls in the area.  
  
“Looks like there was a shooting,” Fury then relayed. “Reports of several armed men and even an explosion. No bodies, no reported casualties.”  
  
Already, Natasha was jogging back to the car, jumping into the driver’s seat. “Those gunmen weren’t petty thugs, they had military issue weapons. With how much they’ve been interested in Marcy lately, I’m betting Hydra.”  
  
“Great,” Clint huffed.  
  
“I’m sending an investigative team to the site to sweep the area. I want you two to meet Agent Gray at her rendezvous site and escort her to SHIELD Central. Call me if anything changes.” Fury hung up the phone without any colloquial good-byes. That was how he usually ended his calls, especially when there was work to do; and there was much to be done.  
  
“So...” Clint said in the silence that followed, “where exactly would be Marcy’s rendezvous point? Do we even have a safe house in town when we’ve already got SHIELD Central?”  
  
“If she can make it to Central, she won’t need us waiting for her,” Natasha said. “But it’s clear on the other side of town. If she can shake her tails, she'll want something closer. Perhaps more secret." Natasha paused thoughtfully and then started the vehicle. "I know where she'll go."  
  
"Where?" Clint asked.  
  
"SHIELD has a secret base below the city. It's where they kept Fury after they faked his death."  
  
"Does Marcy even know about its existence?"  
  
"She should, she worked with Agent Hill after they were both transferred here. It's the only place I've got." Natasha pulled out into the street. "Call Steve, tell him what's going on."  
  
Clint dubiously pulled out his phone. "Do you think he'll meet us there?"  
  
"That's up to him."

* * *

  
  
The two wandered through one of the dirtier parts of town. The sidewalks were littered with the homeless and drug dealers. Drunk party-goers staggered loud and laughing through the streets to the next bar in line. Colorful vendors of all cultures filled the place with delicious smells and bright displays. It was a perfect place to get lost in.  
  
Marcy led the way through the streets. Though she wasn't too familiar with the area, James was even less so. She kept a grip on his jacket sleeve as she pulled him along. Her heart was pounding in her ears, threatening to throw her into full on panic.  
  
Michael Conner was still alive. Or, Hydra had somehow brought him back from the dead; and he now had her ability. How many other Hydra agents had gone through the same treatment? This was bad. SHIELD could be in trouble and they wouldn't even see it coming. She had to meet up with Clint and Natasha, she had to get back to base and warn everyone.  
  
There was a continuous tingle in the back of her neck that Marcy couldn't shake. Was it her nerves? She needed to calm down, she needed to think. Hydra agents; if they could all do it, they could be anywhere. Anywhere.  
  
"Hey, woah," James protested as she suddenly yanked him around the corner.  
  
She put a hand on his chest, pressing him against the building wall in a sign she wanted him to stay there. "Hang on one second."  
  
She disappeared from sight, peering back around where they had come. Out of the crowd, she saw two armed forms appear- invisible to the people around them. In her faded state, Marcy could see them: silver silhouettes, the details of the appearance winking in and out. They had been followed all along.  
  
"They're coming!" she hissed, grabbing Jame's sleeve once more.  
  
This caught him off guard as she was still invisible until she started running. "Get to cover! There's two of them, armed." She pulled them both around the next corner. "They're invisible, they've been following us the whole time."  
  
James swore under his breath. He knew how to go after just about any mark there was, but take away his ability to see them and he was at a loss.  
  
"Give me a handgun," Marcy ordered.  
  
He wordlessly produced one from his hidden arsenal.   
  
"They can't track us, so we need to lose them. When I fire on these guys, we're taking off into those stores."  
  
James merely nodded.  
  
Marcy faded again and reached around the corner. The two invisible agents were right in the middle of the alley, ready to be picked off. She fired, nailing one in the thigh. The body jerked, but didn't fall. The second agent lunged for cover and fired back as Marcy pulled back around the building, bullets whizzing by. Nearby civilians heard the shots and began to stumble around in fear and confusion.  
  
"Being shot doesn't even hurt these guys," Marcy squeaked as she became visible again. "Nothing does!"  
  
"Doesn't matter, let's go!" It was James' turn to grab her and drag her forward, yanking her into the nearest store. He continued to take the lead as he yanked her through a used game shop and out the back in front of the confused teenage cashier.   
  
He took her to another one, some sort of new age incense store. The smell woke Marcy up as she was once again pulled out the back door in the face of a startled woman with too much eye make up.  
  
The lights of a bright convenience store on the corner brought her salvation and she ordered James to go inside. He led the way through to the back door, but Marcy stopped him, grabbing the back end of his jacket.   
  
"No, in here," she said, tugging him into the restroom.  
  
James followed, though confused, as Marcy locked the door behind him. They found themselves in a single bathroom with only one toilet and sink.  
"There, at least we know there's no invisible goons with guns in here," she announced proudly.  
  
"So we just hide in here for the rest of our lives?" James protested.  
  
"No." She raised a finger to him with a confident look. "I have an idea. Promise me you'll stay in here."  
  
James opened his mouth to speak, but she had already slipped back out the door. He saw her fade before it closed shut behind her. Several minutes of pacing in the single stall and titled floor and Marcy slipped back inside, locking the door behind her. She had a load of items in her arms.  
  
"Here," she said, handing him a bundle of clothes. "Change. You got a sharp knife?"  
  
James placed the clothes on the top of the toilet tank before handing her his best blade. Marcy took the knife, grabbed a handful of her air, and promptly chopped it off close to the scalp.  
  
"What are you doing?" James demanded.  
  
"We don't know how many visible and invisible Hydra agents are out there crawling around the street," Marcy said as she continued to saw off her hair. "We need to find a different way to disappear or they're going to keep following us." She gave a nod to the clothes. "Change."  
  
James gave a dubious look to the tight blue jeans, red flannel shirt and brown boots. "This is New York, people don't dress like this here."  
  
By now, the length of Marcy's hair had been reduced to only a few inches from the scalp. She combed some bangs in front of her face with her fingers. "Tourists, do. You're going to stick out so bad they're not even going to consider it's you." She plopped a cowboy hat on his head as if it further proved her point.  
  
James shook his head. "This is crazy." Still, he shrugged off his jacket and began slipping off his gear, trying to figure out how many of his weapons he could still carry unseen in this ridiculous getup.   
  
He was aware of Marcy sticking something in her short hair, but didn't pay much attention until he was fully redressed. Then he turned to find her rinsing her hair in the sink. She straightened, her wet, short hair now jet black instead of its usual brunette.  
  
She looked like a completely different person.  
  
"Your turn," she said, handing him the blade. She also had a box of blond bleacher.  
  
He stared at the items. "I'm not cutting my hair."  
  
"Then at least give it some highlights," she said, shoving the box at him. "You can dye it back later if we survive this."  
  
James frowned deeper, noting the stupid cowboy hat sitting in the corner waiting for him.  
  
Marcy was already stripping to replace her own clothes with another pair of tight jeans that she just barely fit into. Again, she regretted all the food she had consumed that night; and her diet for the past several weeks. A scrap of her old shirt went to hastily patch the cut on her arm. It was still bleeding, but there was nothing she could do about that now.  
  
James glanced over as she was changing into a blue, low fitting top. He noticed the thin surgery scars on her back from the skin grafts; two straight lines above each shoulder blade.  
  
"Huh, so they cut off your wings. No wonder you're so awkward down here on Earth." He reached over to touch the scars, but Marcy stubbornly slapped his hand away.   
  
"Focus," she hissed. Then she reached for a dark purple lipstick and smeared it on. "We're going to go out separately. I'll leave first. There's a tall building a few blocks away with green lights on top. Meet me on the roof in an hour. When you go out there, go slow. Shop around, flirt with pretty girls, don't glance around like you're expecting to be ambushed. You'll slip right under their radar."  
  
James gawked at her as she stood with a hand on the bathroom doorknob. She looked nothing like the girl he knew before with her short, black hair, knee high boots and bold make up. But not just her appearance, he never would have guessed to see this much confidence and this much ridiculousness in her at the same time.  
  
"See you in an hour, James," Marcy said. "Stay alive."  
  
And with that, she was gone.

* * *

  
  
James couldn't believe it; in many ways he could not believe what he was doing. He had bleached his hair, put on those stupid clothes, that ridiculous hat, and left half his arsenal in a gas station bathroom in order to stay alive. Yet, as he moseyed around the city streets, window shopping and smiling at drunk, giggling girls, he sensed no one following him, visible or otherwise.  
  
This was working. This brilliant, stupid plan was going to get him out of this place. It still took all his determination not to degenerate back into hunted ex-Hydra killing machine mode, but he did it. He dug into that small part of him that remembered how to be normal, how to act and blend in, and he did it.  
  
An hour later, he slipped up to the roof of the designated building, feeling strangely free and giddy. He almost wanted to laugh at the whole night. It may have been decades since he had such a laugh.  
  
"Hey," a female voice came out of thin air.  
  
James flinched in surprise as Marcy appeared next to him.  
  
"Roof's clean, no one followed. We did it."  
  
James closed his eyes, mouth breaking open into a silent laugh. "This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever done." Something in his tone said he would happily do it again.  
  
"Hang on, the night's not over yet." Marcy went to the edge of the roof, inspecting the streets below. She faded to see if she found any invisible soldiers skulking around the area. Nothing. It seemed they were indeed scot-free. Where ever Hydra had chased their shadows, they were long gone by now.  
  
Finally, she allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief. "First thing that's gone right today."  
  
"Oh yeah?" James countered, the twinkle of mirth in his eyes. "How's that? Aside from the obvious with Hydra and trying to kill you and all that."  
  
"That's only the icing on the cake that has been this day, believe me." Marcy tiredly rubbed her face. "Ooh, it has been the worst day ever. I am done with men." She raised her head and yelled off the side of the building, "You hear me, New York? I AM THROUGH WITH MEN!"  
  
"Wait, what?" James demanded, wondering if this was still a laughable time.  
  
Marcy shook her head. "Don't worry about it, we need to go. I've got a safe place we can hide. Come on."

* * *

  
  
Natasha sat on a metal medical table, legs dangling off the side. The last time she saw it, it was covered with all sorts of medicinal tools, Fury's body laying in a portable bed next to it. That was almost a year ago. The place had become a bit dusty since then.  
  
Clint paced the floor anxiously, bow in hand as if enemies would start appearing out of the very walls. He didn't like small, tight places, such as this medical bunker, secreted away dozens of feet underground. But mostly, he hated the minutes as they continued to pass by with no sign of their fellow agent.  
  
"It's been too long, something went wrong," he said, looking at Natasha. "She would have been here by now."  
  
The redhead was slowly starting to agree. The more time it took to get to the safe house, the less likely it was the agent hadn't already been captured. But that also didn't mean it wasn't possible that Marcy was still out there somewhere trying to make her way to the rendezvous point.  
  
She glanced at her watch. "Let's give her another half hour and then we'll split up and-"  
  
Clint cut her off with a raise of his hand, straining to hear down the tunnels. "Someone's coming."  
  
Natasha slowly, soundlessly slid off the table and pulled out her gun. Hawkeye slung his bow and both set their sights on the dark tunnel.  
  
"Just me, guys," came a female voice from the darkness before she emerged into the dim lights of the bunker.  
  
"Marcy?" Clint blinked at the black-haired, dark eyed woman standing before them with her hands slightly raised in surrender.  
  
Natasha smirked and lowered her gun. "Looks like you had an interesting night."  
  
"You don't know the half of it," Marcy said tiredly as a second, larger form came out of the darkness behind her.  
  
Hawkeye and Black Widow instantly aimed at the stranger, ready to shoot. The stranger tensed, looking like he wanted to go for whatever heat he may have been packing, but didn't make a move.  
  
"Woah, guys, it's fine." Marcy said calmly, motioning her friends to stand down. "He's with me. He probably saved my life tonight- again."  
  
Natasha caught a glint of light off the metal hand peeking out from under the red flannel shirt. "Holy crap," she breathed. Marcy had brought home the Winter Soldier  
  
"Guys, this is James," Marcy introduced proudly. “He's the one who rescued me from Hydra. Twice now.”  
  
Behind the two SHIELD agents, their third unnoticed companion stepped forward into view. Steve had come there for Marcy. Even if he was still mad at her, he was also worried when he was notified of her disappearance. He expected to stay long enough to make sure she was alright, but he wasn't expecting this.  
  
The tall blond soldier saw the newcomer and stood there with eyes wide. He noticed not the ridiculous disguise, but only the familiar face. Likewise, James took one look at the third person and tensed like an animal ready to bolt.  
  
"Bucky," Steve breathed.  
  
Before the man with the metal arm could do anything in response, Steve was already in his space, throwing his strong arms around his long lost friend and holding him far too tightly for any escape. Steve had him around around the barrel of his chest, James' arms hanging uselessly in the air without a clue of what to do.   
Finally, he awkwardly patted Steve on the shoulder with one hand.  
  
"I've been looking all over for you," Steve murmured.  
  
"I know," James sighed. "I'm sorry."  
  
Steve pulled back, one hand gripping the side of Jame's neck as he looked his friend in the face. It was as though Steve still needed physical contact even now to confirm what he was seeing was not just a figment of the shadows he had been chasing.  
  
"It doesn't matter, Bucky," he said as he looked his fellow soldier in the eyes. "You're home now."  
  
James let out a silent, but heavy breath. Was it really that easy? Was he just home now all because Steve said so? Feeling the urge for backup, James glanced to where Marcy had been standing. She was no longer at his side. The last person she hoped to be there was Steve. She wasn't ready to be near him yet. When he moved forward, she retreated to the other side of Clint and Natasha. Having their bodies between them was all the measly protection from his presence she could get right now.  
  
Natasha was still very tense in the Winter Soldier's presence, no matter his altered appearance. Clint just looked confused.  
  
"Do you want to explain to us what happened tonight?" he asked Marcy.  
  
"Oh man, I have much to tell," she replied with wide eyes. "To everyone. We need to get back to SHIELD Central. Hydra- they- we could all be in serious trouble."  
  
Meanwhile, James hadn't moved from his startled stupor, no matter what Steve did or said. He hadn't expected to see his friend that soon. He wasn't ready to face up to reality so suddenly. For several moments it felt like he was stuck in a dream, unable to respond to the outside world.  
  
Then Steve plucked the cowboy hat off his head. "Why in the world are you dressed like this?" he asked with his usual sideways smile. That smile hadn't changed in over 90 years. "And you dyed your hair?"  
  
James still couldn't respond, he couldn't make his mouth move. Steve's face in his blocked any and all intelligent activity from his brain.  
  
"Steve," Natasha barked from further in the bunker, finally breaking eye contact and Steve's hypnotic hold. "We've got to get back to Central, now." She didn't look too comfortable with Bucky's presence. "Bring your friend if you have to."  
  
Steve instantly turned back to meet James' gaze once more. "You have to come with us." The words sounded like an order, but there was pleading in the tone.   
"Buck? Come with us."  
  
James blinked at him several times, then gazed past the blond man's head to find Marcy disappearing into the dark far ahead. She was deliberately nowhere near himself or Steve. That seemed weird somehow. But his overstimulated brain had no power left to compute the possibilities as to why.  
  
Instead, he looked at Steve-finally looked at him for real instead of a blank stare- and gave a small nod in acquiesce that he would follow.  
  
After a lengthy walk through a dark tunnel, they found the parked SUV. Natasha, as usual, climbed into the driver's seat while Clint took shotgun. Marcy lingered back, waiting for the two soldiers to get in first. She didn't want to sit next to Steve. If he sat in the middle seats, she was going to climb in the very back and visa versa.  
  
Steve also wasn't about to climb in first. He seemed to need to make sure James wasn't going to bolt when his back was turned and opened the door for him, waiting pointedly for the Winter Soldier to climb inside.   
  
James gave Steve one last look before stepping in. He opted for climbing into the back seat, sitting in the furthest corner. Steve got in next, also aiming for the very back and sitting next to James like a human blockade to prevent his escape. Marcy, chin up and jaw firm, kept her eyes front as she sat herself alone in the middle seat and slid the side door shut.  
  
Natasha glanced at them all in the rear view mirror as she started the vehicle. "Steve would climb right into that guy's lap if he'd let him," she murmured only loud enough for Clint to hear.  
  
The archer chuckled to himself, resting his mouth on his knuckles so no one would see him laughing.  
  
In the back, James kept quiet until they drove out of the underground tunnels and into surface traffic. Slowly, his mind grasped the here and now and he noticed something was off. He had chosen the very back because it seated three people. The middle seats could only fit two. Why was he staring at the back of Marcy's head? Why wasn't she with them? Next to Steve? He needed her here. He wasn't sure he could handle Steve alone.  
  
He leaned forward, mouth closer to her ear. “Marcy. Sit back here with us.”  
  
She stiffened at his voice, glancing back at the two of them only to return facing forward again.  
  
“Marc-”  
  
“Stop,” Steve said; quiet, gentle.   
  
James glanced his way in question and Steve returned it with a look that told him he should keep his mouth shut.  
  
So James did. He held his breath and sat quietly in the car, feeling every bump, aware of every city light that flashed through the side window. This was it. Whether he was ready or not, he was going to SHIELD.

* * *

 

Time seemed to pass on fast forward for the former Winter Soldier. Everything seemed to go faster than he was ready for. In no time they were at SHIELD Central, parking in the lot outside. Another breath, they were walking across the lobby. A second more, the elevator pinged their floor.  
  
James remained close to Steve on instinct without any idea of what else to do with himself. They were always on the opposite end of the group than Marcy was. James almost felt like she was abandoning him to Steve. Maybe he deserved it after making her keep his secrets.   
  
The group reached large double doors with the SHIELD insignia on them and James was left to sit outside. The guy with the bow and arrows remained with him to babysit. James wasn't sure if he should be offended or not. Truth be told, his emotions were having a hard time catching up to the entire night. He felt like he had left them back in the underground bunker.  
  
The two sat in stillness for several moments: James in a sort of stunned silence while the arrows guy merely seemed to be biding his time. Eventually, he glanced James' way, as if acknowledging his presence for the first time.  
  
“Hey,” Arrow Guy nodded in greeting.  
  
James hardly moved, though his blue eyes swiveled to the side. “Hey,” he said uncomfortably.  
  
“Agent Barton- Clint.”  
  
“James. Sargent James Barnes.”  
  
Clint tipped his head thoughtfully. “Why does Cap call you Bucky?”  
  
James sighed. “Because he's Steve.”  
  
Clint raised his eyebrows and then shrugged in the universal signal of 'fair enough'. The two continued to wait.

* * *

  
  
“If Hydra's done this to some of their agents, I don't see why they haven't done it to all of their agents,” Marcy was telling Fury in an animated fashion. Currently, she, Natasha and Steve were all standing before the director's desk while he listened in silence. Maria Hill stood to the left of Fury at stiff attention. “They can fade _and_ they don't feel pain. I don't know how they did it, but their inability to be hurt is probably why they survived the process. If Hydra has agents who can fade, they can enter SHIELD Central at any time. They could be here _right now_.”  
  
Steve and Natasha remained quiet the entire time as Marcy explained to them all what she had learned that night. From the alarm on their faces, Fury deduced this was the first time his other two agents had been given this information.  
  
“We need to activate emergency protocols right now,” Agent Hill said in an urgent tone. “She's right, SHIELD Central could already be compromised. We need to keep everyone safe and sweep the building somehow.”  
  
“Every camera in this building has thermal sensors,” Fury said calmly. “Get the security team. Activate them and compare the thermal images to regular footage. Make sure every warm body is accounted for as one of our own.” Fury nodded toward the door. “Go.”  
  
“On it,” Agent Hill nodded and hurried for the exit.  
  
“I can help,” Marcy offered. “I don't know how, but when I fade, I can see anyone else who has also faded. It's... kinda cool, actually.”  
  
Fury eyed her current physical state. “You're not going anywhere until you see a doctor.”  
  
“Why?” Marcy asked blankly. “I feel fine.” She glanced over to Natasha to confirm.  
  
The redhead instantly noticed the purple bruise blossoming at Marcy's throat. She then glanced lower at Marcy's arm. “You're bleeding.”  
  
Marcy looked at her new shirt, seeing blood seep through the material. “Aw, crap,” she muttered. She still didn't feel the least bit of pain with adrenaline still coursing through her system.  
  
“You're hurt?” Steve asked with concern, moving forward. He was instantly in her space, inspecting her. The shiny, blue material of the shirt had loose, wide sleeves and he slid it up to inspect the hasty bandage nearly soaked in blood.  
  
Marcy just stood there, frozen, as his body ate up all the space around her. Why was he so close to her, so concerned? Why was he acting like he hadn't just pushed her out of his life a mere few hours ago? Steve's eyes moved upward to the bruise at her neck. He lightly brushed the damaged skin with his thumb, causing her pulse to jump and her body to shake. Marcy told herself it was just the adrenaline.  
  
Steve looked up into her wide, startled eyes, then higher. He suddenly jumped back in surprise at the black-haired pixie cut.  
  
“What the- What did you do to your hair?!”  
  
Natasha groaned, hiding her face in her palm. “Oh my God, Steve.” She turned to leave. “I'm going to help Maria look for snakes.”  
  
“I'm not done,” Fury reminded, catching Natasha in her tracks. “There's still the issue of having a former agent of Hydra in my building.”  
  
“James is harmless,” Marcy cut in. “You don't have to do anything, he's not-”  
  
“That's not your call, Agent Gray,” Fury said sharply.  
  
“And no one calls him James except his mother,” Steve put in.  
  
“That man out there is _not_ to leave SHIELD without clearance. He will have an armed escort at all times-”  
  
“I'll be his escort,” Steve insisted. “I'll vouch for him. Sargent Barnes is a good man. He's a soldier and a hero. It wasn't his fault what Hydra did to him; what they made him do. He's back now and he's not a threat to anyone.”  
  
“Tell that to every agent here who's seen what that man can do,” Fury countered. “He stays here. He will always have an armed detail on him until I say otherwise. And first thing tomorrow he _will_ submit to a full psychiatric evaluation, am I clear soldier?”  
  
Steve was silent for a moment, but he couldn't argue with Fury's logic. He, too, wanted a professional to look at Bucky. A man just doesn't come out of something like that and remain the same.  
  
“Yes, sir. Assign us dual quarters inside Central. I'll keep an eye on him inside the room and a security detail can be posted outside the doors.”  
  
“If you want to babysit,” Fury relented. “That's up to you.”

* * *

  
  
James stood instantly as the doors to Fury's office opened and the three agents stepped out. Clint got to his feet a little more slowly as they neared. Marcy was in the lead, her fast pace passing up Natasha as she hurried down the hallway.  
  
“Hey,” James called to her as she nearly passed him right up.  
  
“Sorry,” she called, walking backwards, but not stopping her retreat. “Gotta report to the medical office before I can do anything else. Orders.”  
  
“You okay?” he called after her, but he was already talking to her back.  
  
She raised her hand in a wave to his question, but was practically running to get away from them all. James wanted to follow. He didn't want to be left with the rest of them, but it appeared he really was being abandoned.   
  
“Bucky.”  
  
James spun around to come toe to toe with Steve. It looked like he was in Captain America's world now, and there was nothing he could do about it.  
  
Steve gave a nod toward the hall. “Come on, we've got a room for you. Let's talk.”  
  
So maybe that was why Marcy had bailed so fast; she wanted to give the two of them some time to talk. Maybe it was time for them to finally sit down together and discuss what had been going on. James nodded and followed after his friend.  
  
Steve led the two of them to a different floor within the building. The elevator ride was completely silent. Steve kept glancing at him, but James spoke not a word. Steve went over so many different things he could say, but everything sounded so idiotic. How was it that he suddenly couldn't find the words to speak to his best friend?  
  
When they entered the dual quarters Fury had assigned to them, the Winter Soldier wandered around, checking out the living area, kitchen, bedrooms and shared bath.  
  
“Not bad,” he finally spoke. “Better conditions than I've been in since... 70 years? Give or take.”  
  
Steve had watched him patiently, noticing that his friend never looked his way, like he was trying to pretend he wasn't even there.  
  
“Buck.”  
  
James was standing next to the window, looking at the city lights. He breathed out deep and then finally turned, landing his full gaze on the blond soldier before him.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, Steve, I know,” he sighed.  
  
Now Steve had that lost little boy look on his face. James hated that look, too. It always made his big brother instincts kick in.  
  
“I hunted for you everywhere,” Steve said softly.   
  
“I know.”  
  
“I just wanted you to come home. I had thought you were dead for so long. I wanted- I needed- my best friend back. I wanted to help you.”  
  
“I know.”  
  
Pain filled the soldier's face. “Then why didn't you come find me?”  
  
James sighed, hands shoved into his pockets as he looked back out the window. “Because last time I saw you I tried to kill you. I almost _did_ kill you and I had no control over it. I didn't ever want that to happen again.”  
  
Steve moved closer, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. “That wasn't your fault. They brainwashed you, made you do things you didn't want to do. Clearly, you're not like that any more. Besides,” Steve added with a smirk, “whatever you dish out, you know I can handle it.”  
  
“Yeah,” James replied with a mirthless chuckle. “Big, strong Captain America. He can handle anything. He can make it all go away.”  
  
“And everything can be like it used to be.”  
  
James shrugged it off and turned back around. “When's Marcy coming back?”  
  
Steve raised a brow in confusion, wondering what she had to do with anything. “Marcy?”  
  
“You know, your girlfriend?”  
  
A pang hit Steve right in the chest. “We're not... like that any more.”  
  
James made a face that said he didn't quite believe it. “Why not? She got tired of putting up with you?”  
  
“I... broke up with her, actually. Just today.”  
  
Suddenly, the way Marcy had been acting all night completely made sense. Now, the only one who didn't make sense was Steve.  
  
“Why would you do that? She liked you, you big idiot.”  
  
“She lied to me.”  
  
“About what?”  
  
Steve paused, looking away. His previous indignation at the situation seemed rather silly now. “She lied about you.”  
  
James' mouth fell open as it all sank in. “Steve, you broke up with her because she wouldn't tell you about _me_?” His fists clenched up. “Oh, I'm going to sock you in the mouth.”  
  
Steve jerked back in surprise at the sudden threat. “Bucky? What-” He had to duck out of the way as a fist of flesh and then of metal swung for his head. “What are you doing?” he demanded, backing away from the assault.  
  
The next punch to fly Steve's way was caught in his palm.  
  
Bucky growled at him. “As your best friend, it's my job to knock some sense into you when you're being a moron. You're so stubborn, usually the best way to do it is by punching you in the teeth.”  
  
Steve set his jaw. “Fine, if that's how you want to play it.” As James threw the next punch, he grabbed the attacking arm, tossing James over his shoulder and landing him flat on his back. Steve stood over the body, the other man's arm still twisted in his grip, one boot on James' chest.   
  
“This is not any of your business, Bucky.”  
  
James' sharp, blue eyes glared up at him. “Just tell me you don't love her; that you don't feel about her the way she does about you and I'll let it go.”  
  
Steve froze for a second. No, that wasn't the case. Being with Marcy made him happy. Her mannerisms, the silly things she said, all those little, normal things she would get him to do; she was color in his drab world of work, missions, fighting. All the weight on his shoulders seemed to lighten when she smiled his way. And sometimes, she had that look on her face that made him feel like he would give anything to protect her, to keep her happy so she wouldn't have to make that face ever again.  
  
But was he in love with her? After years of ice, after all that had been lost, all that had been taken from him, did he have room in his heart for that kind of love? He had let his past and his search for Bucky consume all his emotions. Sometimes it felt like he had none left to spare.  
  
James took advantage of the silence and twisted Steve's foot, causing the soldier to stumble away as James jumped to his feet. He instantly crouched in a fighting stance again, much to Steve's dismay. He didn't work so hard to bring his best friend home just so he could fist fight with him.  
  
“So, what is it?” James pressed. “You love her or not? It's an easy question. You can end this right here and now.”  
  
Frustration boiled up in Steve's chest. The look on Marcy's face when he left her haunted him; the way she had been frantic to flee from him when he yelled at her that morning. He suddenly recalled her eyes were already wet, she was already pale and scared when he had first entered her office. There was an empty ache in his heart in a place that used to feel calm and content. But there were other parts of him that were disappointed, betrayed, and he refused to let them go.  
  
“I care about her, but she lied to me. I can't be with someone who isn't honest with me.”  
  
“So you're saying you've never lied to anyone- ever,” James retorted knowingly. He had been present for all their boyhood lies, their shenanigans, their most proud and shameful times growing up.  
  
“It's not the same!” Steve insisted with a growl. “The one I'm with shouldn't do that to me. Peggy would have _never_ done what she did!”  
  
James suddenly relaxed his stance, fists lowering. “Peggy... Carter?” he asked blankly. “Agent Carter? 70 years ago Agent Peggy Carter? Are you serious?”  
  
Steve said nothing.  
  
“All this time and you still- is she even alive anymore?”  
  
“Shut up, Bucky,” Steve warned.  
  
James gave a mirthless laugh. “Poor Marcy. She really has no hope of living up to this figment of female perfection you've concocted in your mind.”  
  
“What's wrong with waiting for the right girl?”  
  
“See, Steve? That was your problem, even when we were kids. You couldn't get a girl because you got in your own way. It had nothing to do with your size. You were cute, polite, respectful; girls loved that. But you had this idiotic idea in your head that there was one perfect woman out there waiting for you and no one else could compare to this... fantasy girl of yours.  
  
“There's no such thing as the right girl. You think Peggy was perfect? You just didn't know her long enough to find all the little things about her that would have annoyed you.”  
  
“No,” Steve shook his head insistently. “Not Peggy. She was it; my perfect partner.”  
  
“She was a hard ass,” James spat. “She was no fun to be around because she was always putting on a show to impress the brass. She had no other interests outside of furthering her own career.”  
  
“Bucky,” Steve warned, jaw clenched and fists up.  
  
“She was every bit as bullheaded and stubborn as you, but she didn't have the confidence she wanted us all to think she did.”  
  
“Bucky,” Steve hissed again.  
  
“Remember when she nearly shot at you because you kissed that blonde? Good thing that shield was bulletproof, huh?”  
  
“Bucky, stop.”  
  
“She wasn't even with you and already she was insanely jealous of seeing you with another woman. You think she was going to be able to corral that temper if you two were dating? Or were you just expected to never look at another female human being for the rest of your life?”  
  
“Bucky!”  
  
“Face it, Steve, your darling, perfect angel was just as flawed as any other woman out there. She was boring and petty and self serving. The rest of us just ignored the bad parts because she had a pretty face and a tight ass.”  
  
At that moment, Steve knew exactly what Bucky was doing. Bucky didn't believe any of the words he was saying. He respected Peggy Carter, was her friend. He was pulling all this garbage out of his ass on purpose to piss Steve off. No one knew how to push Steve's buttons like Bucky did. He _wanted_ Steve to lose his temper to prove a point. Steve knew all this. But as his temper flared, he didn't care.  
  
Steve suddenly let out an angry battle cry and charged his friend. James braced himself as Steve rammed his shoulder into him. The Winter Soldier was sent flying off his feet, slamming into the wall. James managed to get a foot between them and kicked Steve in the gut, sending him stumbling back.  
  
The two broke into a hard battle, punches and kicks flying every which way. They knocked over the couch and broke a lamp in their struggle. James managed to land a punch to Steve's check bone and the blond countered, slugging James right in the eye.  
  
The fray continued until every bit of furniture was upturned and they had cracked one window. Steve managed to kick James' feet out from under him. He fell flat on his back as Steve crouched on top, shirt in his left fist while the right fight wound back for a solid punch.  
  
James lay there, glaring at him with those sharp, blue eyes tented with heavy brows. As they stared at each other, Steve suddenly felt all his anger drain away. He no longer had the stomach to continue the fight. Both arms dropped to his side and he slid off, flopping himself on the floor next to his friend. The two soldiers lay there on their backs, staring at the ceiling as their breathing slowed back to normal.  
  
“There's no such thing as the perfect partner,” James told the ceiling. “You just find one that makes you so happy, the little things don't matter.”  
  
Steve gave a shuttering breath, shoving the heels of his hands into his eye sockets. “I needed you, Bucky, I needed my friend. Why wouldn't she tell me about you?”  
James sighed. “Marcy wanted to. I was at the house last night when you dropped her off.”  
  
Steve shot up into a sitting position, staring down at him with wide eyes. “What?”  
  
James remained neutral as he continued, his gaze far away. “She wanted to call you and have you come back. I told her if she did, I would leave and she would never see me again. I made her promise not to tell you.”  
  
Steve frowned. “I... why would she agree to that?”  
  
“I made a bargain with her. In exchange for her silence, she made me promise I'd take care of myself, and that I'd keep coming around so she could continue to talk me into coming home. That's why she kept everything from you. It's my fault, Steve. Be mad at me, not her.”  
  
_So, looking out for your best friend is a quality you_ don't _want in a girlfriend?_ Natasha had said. Steve then realized with a warmth spreading in his body that he liked Marcy caring about his friends very much. He liked having her in his life. The others had all been right; he should have been more patient, he should have listened to the whole story. He should have remembered that everyone makes mistakes, even Captain America.  
  
He breathed heavily out his nose and James glanced curiously his way.  
  
“I need to find Marcy. I need to talk to her.”  
  
James suddenly grinned. “Yeah, you do.”  
  
Steve raised a brow at him. “Unless there's something else you want to confess? Any specific reason you've been creeping around my girlfriend without telling me?”  
“Just making sure my best friend's girl stays safe. I've always got your back, Steve.”  
  
That brought a bit of a smile to the captain's face. Then he thought about the difficult task he needed to do and stood up. “Alright, I'll go look for her. I guess you're coming too since I promised not to let you out of my sight.” He offered a hand to his friend.  
  
“So now you're my babysitter, too?” James took the offered hand and allowed Steve to pull him to his feet.  
  
“Only until we get things figured out around here. It shouldn't take long. They want you to take a psyche eval tomorrow. Then, everything should be fine.”  
  
James didn't say anything, but he had a feeling SHIELD wasn't going to magically exonerate everything he had done in the past just like that. It was all too complicated for that.  
  
They stepped out the door to find two armed SHIELD agents outside.  
  
“I don't know, it's been quiet for a while,” one of them was saying on their radio. “Should we go in and-” He paused at the appearance of the two soldiers. “Nevermind, they just came out. Everything looks...” He caught a glimpse of the upturned apartment inside. “...fine?”  
  
Steve shut the door behind him. “I have some brief business to take care of. Sargent Barnes is coming with me, but I will return him to his quarters shortly.” He didn't wait for the agent's permission before walking off.  
  
“And if things to well, we may have some female company tonight, if you know what I mean,” James called to them as they left.  
  
Steve lightly cuffed the back of his head. “Stop.” But internally, he was grinning. It felt like he had his old friend back.

* * *

 

Marcy sat still in the medical office as the cut on her arm was stitched back together. Now that she was safe, she was free to pick apart the events of that night and try to figure out what was going on. In previous attacks from Hydra where she was the main target, they either tried to get samples from her or capture her alive. This time, however, it seemed they only wanted her dead and nothing more.  
  
It didn't make sense. If they had already perfected the Ghost serum, then why come after her? Why was her death important to them? She was but one invisible agent, they were many. Perhaps they wanted to make sure SHIELD couldn't copy their procedure and make more soldiers themselves?  
  
Either way, when Hydra wanted someone dead, they usually weren't so shy about it. When they wanted Fury out of the way, they tore up half of downtown in mid daylight. If they wanted her dead, why send a few covert invisible agents to go after her during the cover of darkness? Unless it wasn't exactly an official order of Hydra.   
  
Conner had led the group, he had specifically targeted her. This wasn't Hydra, this was personal. Conner was acting on his own. He had always hated her though he never really had a reason. This wasn't even revenge. He had attacked her to flaunt his new powers, to taunt her before he killed her. He had gone after her because he was a raging asshole.   
  
Marcy's fists clenched in her lap as the medic put in the last stitch. “All done. You're good to go. You know, I don't think I've seen you around here before. Are you new? I never forget a pretty face.” He paused to actually look at her chart and balked at the name. “Agent Gray? _Marcia_ Gray?”  
  
He glanced at her again, but she had already grabbed her jacket and stalked out the door.  
  
There was purpose in her stride as Marcy walked the halls. If Michael Conner was so dead set on one last showdown with her, she'd give him one. No doubt he'd show up at her house now if she gave him time. He wouldn't be able to resist. She would wait for him there and she would be ready.  
  
“Marcy,” Clint's voice cut through the internal monologue of her plans. “Where do you think you're going?”  
  
“The medics released me, I'm going home.”  
  
“The hell you are,” Clint informed her. “Those Hydra lackies targeted you specifically. There's no way I'm letting you go home where invisible agents are waiting to take you out, all so you can lay in wait for Michael Conner.”  
  
Marcy sighed. Clint knew her way too well.  
  
“You're staying here at SHIELD until we figure out where these guys are hiding and what they're up to,” he continued.  
  
She shoved her hands in her jacket and looked away. “Fine. But I'm in on the mission when we go after these guys. I'm not sitting on the benches this time.”  
  
The archer smiled at her, looking almost pleased with her decision. “I didn't think you would.” He reached out and playfully ruffled her black, boyish hair while she squawked in protest. The joke was on him when he pulled his hand back to find it tinted with hair dye that wasn't properly rinsed out. “Blech.”  
  
“You get what you deserve,” Marcy retorted as she tried to put her hair back in order.  
  
She paused when she saw who was coming up the hall toward them. Did everyone always know what floor she was on? She stood quiet and still as Steve approached, purpose in his stride. Marcy merely remained in his shadow, tense and ready as if he were to pounce on her. She threw a quick glance to James, but otherwise did not acknowledge his presence. Steve had all her attention and she felt at his mercy.  
  
“Marcy,” he said softly. “I need to talk to you.”  
  
“That's my cue to go,” Clint said in discomfort.  
  
Marcy lurched to snag his shirt, but the archer had already scooted out of her reach and down the hall. She glared after him for leaving her there.  
  
“Marcy,” Steve said again.  
  
She closed her eyes to avoid looking up at him. Why did he have to stand so close when her heart still hurt this bad?  
  
“What, Steve?” she asked, trying to keep her voice emotionless. “I have to go.”  
  
“I'm sorry.”  
  
Her eyes snapped open at those words and she stared at him, not ready to believe her ears.  
  
“I overreacted,” Steve continued. “I didn't know what was going on and I was angry. But I was also stupid for not trying to understand what you were doing. Bucky and I talked; he told me everything. I was wrong for the way I acted and I'm sorry.”  
  
Marcy glanced to the other man standing behind him. James shot her a hopeful smile, giving her two thumbs up. But Marcy just furrowed her brows at the two of them.  
  
“Why do you both look like you've just been in a fight?”  
  
Steve glanced at James who cleared his throat and sunk out of view behind his friend's broad shoulders. Steve then returned his attention to the woman before him, gently taking her hand in his.  
  
“Again, Marcy, I'm sorry. I was an idiot. I was hurt and angry, but I was wrong to take it out on you and not to trust you.”  
  
Her eyes remained on where they touched, Steve's thumb rubbing the back of her limp hand.  
  
“Okay,” she said softly, not sure what else she could say.  
  
“Can we... try again?”  
  
“No.” That one word immediately left her mouth.  
  
Steve jerked back as if he had been bitten. “What?”  
  
Marcy shut her eyes tight. “I mean yes. I mean... maybe. I don't know.” She gripped her short hair as she growled with frustration. “I can't think right now. I had people try to kill me tonight, Steve. I found out horrible things about my childhood today, and I just don't have it in me to deal with this, too. I can't... I just can't do this right now.”  
  
Steve remained silent, allowing her to vent. He was unprepared for the emotional pain that came with her initial rejection. This was how he made her feel earlier. It was awful and he wished like hell he could take it back.  
  
“Okay,” was all he said. He had the overwhelming urge to touch her, to brush her face with his fingers. She almost died tonight and where was he? What did she mean about her childhood? Someone had hurt her and he abandoned her when she was trying to do the right thing? Bucky had been right, his expectations ad priorities were all screwed up. He needed to get himself together or he was going to ruin this for good- if he hadn't already.  
  
“Okay,” he said again, and his heart was aching.  
  
Marcy nodded, throwing them both one last glance before retreating down the hall after Clint.

  
  


  
  


  
  


  
  


 


	17. Stupid In Love

**Faded**

**Chapter 17: Stupid In Love**

 

The early morning sun filtered in through the window and Steve rolled over in the unfamiliar bed. He gathered the pillow under his head, intent on burying his face to keep out the light. But he also had the uncanny sensation that he wasn't alone in the room. Squinting in the morning light, he found Bucky's form laying on the floor next to his bed.

The Winter Soldier lay with his back flat on the carpet, hands clasped at his middle and eyes open, staring at the ceiling.  
“Mm... Bucky?” Steve asked groggily.

“Hey,” he greeted.  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
“Couldn't sleep. I... don't sleep very much anymore.”  
  
“Oh,” was all Steve could think to say.  
  
“Listen,” Bucky went on, “I feel bad about what I said last night. About Peggy. I know you were sweet on her, and I was taken out early so I never knew if you two ever got together or anything.”  
  
“No,” Steve sighed. “I was going to take her dancing after our last mission, but I ended up taking a 70-year-long ice bath instead.”  
Bucky barked out a laugh. “Steve, that's awful!”

“Tell me about it. I got to kiss her, though.”  
  
“Well, that's something, I suppose.” Bucky sighed and then added, “I just want you to know I didn't mean any of what I said about her. I just wanted to rattle you, get you out of your own way.”  
  
“You wanted to piss me off,” Steve accused with annoyance.

“It worked, didn't it?”

“She's still alive, you know.”  
  
Bucky glanced up at him. “Yeah? How's she doing?”  
  
Steve sighed. “Not good. She has advanced Alzheimer’s. It's... slowly killing her.”  
  
“Oh, then I'm sorry about that, too.”  
  
Steve flopped back on his bed, staring at the ceiling as well. “You know, I said the same thing to her. I said I was sorry and she yelled at me.”  
Bucky snorted. “Oh yeah? About what?”  
  
“She got after me for feeling sorry for myself and for feeling sorry for her. She told me that she was happy, that she led a full life. She did all that she wanted to do and she didn't regret any of it and I shouldn't either.”  
  
“Classy dame, that Peg. They don't make too many like that.”  
  
“No, they don't,” Steve agreed. “You know she had kids, Buck? And grandkids, too. She was so proud of them all.”  
  
Bucky nodded thoughtfully, and then, “Any of them hot?”  
  
That comment earned him a pillow in the face.

“You were right about one thing, Buck,” Steve then said, “Both of us were so stubborn. The truth is, I don't know what would have happened after that first date. I don't know if we would have made it or if we were both too bullheaded to make the other happy. I could be lamenting a possibility that never would have happened. I just regret that I never got a chance to find out.”

Silence, and then Bucky's voice: "I'm starving. How about we get breakfast?"  
Steve grinned. "Sounds good."  
  
"And can we do something about my damn hair?"  
  
Nearly forty minutes later, Steve and Bucky made an appearance at the cafeteria, Bucky's hair damp and back to its usual dark color. The cafeteria staff watched in dismay as the boys piled their trays high. Bucky winked at one of the girls who was staring at them, causing her to blush and look away with a smile. Apparently, not everyone was aware of who he was.  
  
Steve just shook his head. Aaaand he's back, he thought.  
  
The two sat themselves at an empty table and dug into their high protein meal. After a while, Natasha stepped into the cafeteria. She spotted the two soldiers and made a bee line for them, pulling up a chair to join them at the table.  
  
"Natasha," Steve greeted warily, not sure why she was there.  
  
"Nice shiners," she nodded to both of them. "Have a disagreement already, boys?"  
  
Steve frowned as he touched the angry red mark on his cheek. Bucky's was worse, a nice purple bruise around the outer part of his eye socket.  
  
"Just guy talk," Bucky explained. "Wanted Steve here to get some perspective before he dumps the next girl for chewing her finger nails or eating too loud."  
  
Steve looked to the ceiling, shaking his head, but Natasha seemed to approve.  
  
"So how exactly can we help you, Natasha?" Steve then asked.  
  
"I'm on escort duty today," she explained. "Making sure this one gets down for his psyche eval." She nodded toward Bucky.  
  
Steve suddenly felt a little protective. Yes, he wanted Bucky to see a professional, but he felt like Natasha was going to march his friend off like a criminal and Bucky didn't deserve that.  
  
The dark haired man at his side, however, calmly wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood. "Let's go. I'm ready."  
  
Natasha smiled as she stood. Steve got to his feet, but she raised a hand to him. "Sorry Rogers, not you. Just him."  
Steve plopped himself back down, looking a little lost.  
  
Natasha gave him an amused look. "Don't worry, mama bird, I'll bring him back in one piece. See you in a few hours."  
  
Steve had no other choice but to sit there and watch them go.

* * *

  


Bucky allowed Natasha to lead the way through the various halls and levels of SHIELD Central. As they entered the elevator, he stole a glance at the attractive redhead. If there's more agents like her, he thought to himself, I just might join SHEILD. He found himself smirking just slightly before Natasha noticed.  
  
"You don't remember me, do you?" she said with a glance in his direction.  
  
"Um... should I?" Bucky ventured. "One would think I'd remember an encounter with you."  
  
"One would think," Natasha said flatly. She lifted up the edge of her shirt, revealing the fat scar on her side. "Iran. You hit me with a soviet slug while I was on escort duty. You don't remember any of that?"  
  
Bucky faced forward, staring at the elevator doors while he furrowed his brows. "No, I don't. To tell the truth, there's a lot of Hydra I don't remember. Whenever they felt like they were losing control of me, they'd strap me down and wipe my mind clean. Over and over again."  
  
Natasha stole another glance. For the first time, a look of sympathy for him crossed her features.  
  
"But maybe it's not erased," Bucky went on. "Maybe it's all just packed away somewhere. I remembered Steve, I remembered my old life from before the war. Maybe you're in there somewhere, too." The elevator dinged their floor and Bucky looked over at the redhead. "I just... don't know if I want to find it."  
  
"Pretending that those things you did never happened is the coward's way out," Natasha said as she stepped out.  
  
Bucky winced. That comment hurt, but it was also very true. He followed Natasha to a closed door with the words "Dr. Adams" printed on it in gold letters. Natasha knocked. The door was answered a few moments later by a thin man in his 50's. His thick head of stark white hair seemed to suggest it had been of that color most of his life.

“Dr, Adams.” Natasha nodded. “This is Sargent Barnes here for his appointment.”

“Excellent, I was looking forward to it,” he said as if he had such patients every day. “Sargent Barnes, a pleasure to meet you.” The two shook hands, the older man not even flinching from Bucky's tight grip.

Natasha remained in the hall. “I'll collect him when you're finished.” She turned on her heel, heading back toward the elevator.

Bucky blatantly watched her go. “She can collect me all she wants,” he commented to himself.

Dr. Adams smiled at him. “Well at least you seem to be in good spirits. Come in and let's talk.”

The place was somewhat utilitarian, but tasteful. Bucky noted no pictures of family or other personal relics for the SHIELD therapist. He was motioned to sit on a brown leather couch and Bucky did so, propping a foot on one knee and clasping his hands on his stomach.

Dr. Adams seated himself in a chair, notebook in his lap. "So, Sargent Barnes, do you mind if I call you James?"  
  
"Most call me Bucky, I guess. Or they used to, you know, when people knew me. Now Steve just calls me Bucky."  
  
"Would you like it if more people called you that?"  
  
He paused to think. "Yeah, I think I would."  
  
"Bucky, how do you feel about being in SHIELD right now?"  
  
Something in the soldier wilted a bit at the question. "I... I'm still figuring that out. Being at SHIELD wasn't in my plan. I didn't feel I was ready to see Steve yet, but it all kind of happened. Now, I'm glad I'm with him again, but I don't feel all that comfortable here to tell the truth."  
  
Adams scribbled a little in his notebook. "Thank you for being honest with me about that. Not many will admit when they feel that way, or their plans don't go the way they want."  
  
Bucky shrugged. "Hey, that's me. I always tell it how it is. Lying certainly isn't going to help me out here. And I've got no secrets. I'm sure you guys know more about me than even I do at this point."  
  
"What do you mean by that?"  
  
"I'm sure SHIELD kept tabs on me; knew what I was doing as... him."  
  
"The Winter Soldier."  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
"And why do you talk like you are not the one who did those things as the Winter Soldier?"  
  
Bucky grew a little agitated at that point. He stood, body language tense. "Because that's not me, okay? I don't remember all the things they made me do, I just know they were bad. Things I never would have done if I was in control, not even if they were direct orders. Hydra wiped my mind right before I ran into Steve again. It's hard to feel like I even worked for Hydra when I hardly remember any of it.”

He paced only a step or two and sat himself down again, this time his elbows rested on his knees. “Physically, they used my body as the Winter Soldier, but me, up here,” he tapped his temple, “I wasn't present. The real me wasn't there.”

Dr. Adams regarded him neutrally. “Doesn't that feel like you're just trying to pass the blame? Like you're trying to avoid the responsibilities of your actions?”

Bucky shot him a dark look. “You told me to be honest with you, Doc. I'm just telling you how I feel. I'm trying to explain to you what it's like to be me right now.”

“And I appreciate that. You have also told me that you are capable of controlling yourself and your temper when confronted with this difficult subject.”

“Well, I've never really had much of a temper. That was always Steve's problem. Couldn't keep his mouth shut for nothing. I had to be the calm one to keep dragging his ass out of the fire.”

“Yes, back when he was younger. But Captain Rogers doesn't need your protection anymore.”

Bucky smirked. “Doesn't make him any less of an idiot. He still needs someone to pound some sense into him now and then.”

Adams gave a small smile. “You care about him very much.”

“Of course I do, he's my best friend. He's like the little brother I never had. And he's all I've got left now.”

Adams nodded and jotted a few more things in his notebook. “And what would you like to happen in the future, Bucky?”

He shrugged. “I dunno. I've just been taking it one day at a time.” He gave a nostalgic smile. “When we were little, Steve always wanted to do whatever I was doing. Even when I joined the army. Now, I just want to do whatever he's doing.”

“Captain Rogers works for SHIELD. Is that something you would like to do?”

“Wherever Steve's going, I'll go. Someone needs to keep an eye on that idiot.”

* * *

  


Her fists against the solid, leathery weight of the bag felt good, refreshing. Marcy had been wanting to punch something for a while. Sleeping at SHIELD that night, staying away from her own house was difficult. It felt cowardly and Marcy was so tired of being scared; of feeling pathetic. She was tired of always waiting for the danger to come to her; she was ready to bring some danger of her own.  
  
Unfortunately, every punch, every kick reminded her of her several week furlough while she recovered from her time in Hydra's lab.  
  
She was out of shape, too slow. Michael Conner had beaten her in that alley and she wasn't even a challenge. In her prime she was faster than him, smarter than him. He had gotten the jump on her, allowing her surprise to leave her sluggish and stupid while he almost killed her. If it weren't for James, she would be dead and she hated that she couldn't save herself.  
  
Each viscous blow to the punching bag made her feel a little better. She hadn't lost anything yet, she just had to get back in the game; get stronger, faster, and then Michael Conner would get his.

“Woah, easy there, tiger.”  
  
Marcy snapped her head around to find none other than Steve Rogers standing nearby. The t-shirt and sweat pants he wore told her he hadn't been looking for her, but just happened to fancy himself a workout while she was already in the gym.  
  
“That's a scary look,” he continued with a bit of amusement.

Still panting, Marcy straightened, wiping the sweat from her brow with a wrist. “Where's James? Or Bucky; or whatever he wants to be called.”

“At his psyche evaluation.”  
  
She loosened a bit in surprise. “Really. He was okay with that?”  
  
Steve shrugged. “Seemed to be. He gladly went with Natasha.”  
  
Marcy smirked. “Every man gladly goes with Natasha.”  
  
He smirked back, not feeling the need to make a verbal response.  
  
Marcy rubbed her sore knuckles as she watched him. Today was different somehow. Being in his presence wasn't so difficult; in fact it was downright normal. Good. She didn't need her failed relationship with Steve to distract her. No doubt he would also be on the mission when they discovered where Hydra was hiding themselves. She didn't want his presence causing her to waver from her goal of smashing her fists in Michael Conner's stupid face. This would be the last time that Hydra traitor ever made a fool of her, she would make sure of it.

Steve noticed that scary look was returning as she glared darkly at the bag. “I don't think I've ever seen you work a punching bag.” Or do much of any fight training, he realized. All he had ever seen of her was the wounded Marcy. Why did he find it so odd to see her make use of the SHIELD gym?

“I know,” she agreed. “I've gotten flabby and slow.” She began punching the bag with renewed vigor. “And pathetic,” she muttered under the sound of flesh hitting leather.  
  
Steve stepped in, putting an arm in the way in attempt to get her to stop. “You're not- you're not pathetic.”

Marcy wouldn't look at him. She didn't need his validation, not any more. “Is there something you wanted? I'm kind of busy right now.”  
Steve regretfully moved his arm. There was so much he still wanted to say and it was difficult to express the words. “I just... I still care about you and I worry about you. With what's going on with Hydra, I'm sure you're taking it very personal. I just don't want you to do anything hasty that will get yourself hurt or worse.”

Marcy turned his way, not even looking up to meet his face. She made a sweeping motion with her arm and leg; so easy and quick Steve was unprepared. His feet were suddenly knocked out from under him and his back landed on the padded floor of the gym. He was still blinking in surprise at what happened when Marcy straddled him, sitting herself on his stomach, arms propped up on her knees.

“Personal, Rogers?” she said, looking him straight in his wide, blue eyes. “What I take personal is the fact that even though I've known my fair share of rejection, I've never given any man enough of my heart to break it. I know better. But then you come in with your big, earnest eyes and your... tight abs and that stupid, sexy blue suit of yours and you promise me that I can expect more from you.”  
  
Steve found he was only half listening. The glean of sweaty skin at her neck held his attention as his eyes wandered down to her exposed cleavage. That sight plus the breathy way she panted above him made his body warm in a way he was not prepared for.

“And I believed it!” she continued hotly. “Like a fool, I believed you and I fell all stupid in love with you and I can't go back from that now. And I am _so_ mad at myself for trusting you, for thinking you were different. But you're just like everyone else.”  
  
Steve blinked at her. He could not remember a time when he had been accused of being just like everyone else. Then, something else stuck in his brain. “Wait. You said you're in love with me?”

Marcy huffed and stood up. “I said stupid in love,” she clarified as she put a sneakered foot on those aforementioned tight abs.

Steve grabbed her ankle, holding it there as she tried to move away. “What's the difference?”

She fought to remove herself from his grasp, but he stubbornly held on. “It's when you're too dumb and happy to realize it's a bad idea. Guys like you don't stick around for girls like me and-- let go of me, Steve!”

“No.” His blue eyes stared at her stubbornly as he held her by her calf. His mouth was already running before his brain could catch up. “I want you. I'm not letting you go.”  
  
The words didn't seem to compute with Marcy as she fought and twisted out of his grip. Steve jumped to his feet, continuing to pursue her as she tried to gain some space. When it was obvious he wasn't going to give up, she snapped around, causing him to nearly collide with her.  
  
“What, Steve?” she demanded. “What do you want from me?”

His eyes skimmed over her frantically, trying to find the words to express the pounding in his chest. When the vocabulary wouldn't come, he moved in, cupping her face in his hands and taking her mouth with his. Marcy froze, her eyes wide. They had kissed before, but Steve had never kissed her like that; with fingers in her hair, yanking her in, tasting her hungrily as his teeth dragged over her bottom lip before slowly pulling away.

The two stared at each other, both startled and panting. Steve's baby blue eyes seemed to have darkened in color somehow as he eyed her. Marcy slowly sucked on her bottom lip and that was all he could take. He rushed her again, bodily pinning her against the wall. Her shorter height made it difficult for him to kiss her while keeping his body flush against hers. Steve quickly solved that by hoisting her up by hips and she obediently wrapped her legs around his waist.

Pressed tight between the wall and the soldier, Marcy kissed him back, her fingers digging into his scalp, sending electricity down his spine. Her hands moved down his neck, over his shoulders while Steve's hands boldly went everywhere. Every little thing she did; every kiss, every touch, every quick intake of breath was setting his whole body on fire. Even though she was right there against him, it felt like her body was a mile away as long as those thin layers of clothing separated them. He burned to have her skin press against his in such a way that it felt like the desire alone would kill him.

In desperation to quench his hunger, his mouth attacked the skin of her neck. Her shuttering gasp, the way her legs jerked and tightened around him, only spurred him on. He tasted the salt of her sweat, the smooth texture of her flesh, and grew hungrier to taste every inch of her body. At the same time, Marcy clawed at his back, trying to remove his T-shirt. Steve moved to help her. He wanted all the cloth barriers between them gone. He wanted to rip the clothes from her body, leaving her exposed and panting for him. He wanted-

There was a heavy clattering sound behind him and the spell was broken. Steve blinked at the woman in his clutches, her lips red and swollen from his bruising kisses. He released her, setting her down to stand on her own as he put his feelings and hormones back in order. Steve pulled his shirt back down as they both turned to investigate the source of the interruption.

Near the gym door was Bruce Banner, desperately trying to recover a spilled pile of slippery binders that were scattered all over the floor. Even as he scrambled to stack them again, they would slip out of his grip every time he lurched forward to grab another one.

“I... uh... I'm sorry. I didn't see anything, I swear,” he said in embarrassment as he continued to awkwardly gather his files. “I was never here- just... consider it forgotten. I won't remember a thing. Just look away.”

Steve and Marcy glanced at each other, both secretly glad for the interruption before their sudden catharsis really got out of hand.

“It's fine, Bruce,” Marcy assured him, slipping out of Steve's shadow and retreating a safe distance toward the scientist. “Were you looking for one of us?”  
  
“You, actually,” he said as Marcy stooped to pick up the rest of his files and plant them safely in his arms. “Thank you. SHIELD told me about the recent developments with Hydra and I've been pulling up all the information they have on your condition.”

“What exactly are you looking for?” she asked, a bit defensive.

Bruce softened his tone. “I know this is a bit of a touchy subject and I'm sorry, but I've been reviewing the research on your condition. I found they would always use electric shock to invoke the response of your ability."  
  
Marcy self-consciously started to rub her chilled arms. Talking about electricity always made her skin feel like it was dancing along an electric current. It was an uncomfortable sensation that made her nerves feel frayed at the edges and her muscles ache.  
  
"Yeah..." she agreed hesitantly.  
  
"And this is an involuntary response, correct?"  
  
"Right. I don't really have control over it with electricity flowing through me. They would use it to make me fade."  
  
She rubbed her arms again. Steve moved in closer. She could feel his presence like a heat at her side and she moved a step away from him. Steve didn't try to get closer a second time.  
  
Bruce gave her a sincere look. "I'm sorry that happened to you, but we can use this information. The Hydra agents in their invisible state- if we shock them, they'll lose control, too, right? It would force them to flicker into the visible spectrum and we could see them."  
  
Marcy blinked. "You know, it probably would work if you had something that could disperse electricity to a whole group of invisible agents."  
  
"That's what I'm working on," Bruce said proudly. "I want us to be ready whenever Hydra decides to come slinking out of their hole."  
  
"Though the invisible bodies still show up on thermal cameras and heat vision goggles," Marcy reminded. "And we've got plenty of those already in place to keep an eye out for Hyrda."  
  
Bruce seemed unphased by this information. "Still, it doesn't hurt to have a backup plan. You never know what might come your way."  
  
"This is true," Marcy agreed. "Make us something cool, Dr. Banner."  
  
He smiled at her. "I'll do my best." And, after a glance at Steve, "You two kids have fun. I'll leave you alone now." With that, he was out the door.  
  
Marcy just shook her head and turned to go, not even acknowledging Steve's presence. It seemed almost purposeful that she was trying to pretend he was not there. But Steve trailed her anyway. After what happened earlier he felt he needed to say something, needed to talk about how he felt. Marcy was almost to the woman's shower room and he could not follow her there.  
  
"Hey," he quickly called after her.  
  
Marcy paused, her hand on the shower room door. She looked back at him, her face a mask to what she was thinking.  
  
"I think... I think I'm a bit stupid in love, too."  
  
Her eyes widened at his statement. Then her awed gaze slowly returned to the door. She blinked once and walked inside, the door closing behind her. That was the last Steve saw of her for a long time.

* * *

  


"It went better than could be expected, actually," Dr. Adams reported on the vid screen. "Sargent Barnes was very personable and honest. He seems to be doing well despite what he's been through."  
  
"Yes, but is he dangerous?" Fury asked the screen as he sat at his desk.  
  
"All of your agents are dangerous, Director," Adams responded calmly. "If you're asking if Barnes is likely to suddenly become erratic and violent, I don't believe so. Even as the Winter Soldier, his actions were very calm and methodical. He is not an unpredictable man. And that persona is no longer in control."  
  
"What do you mean persona?"  
  
"In order to create the Winter Soldier, Hydra had to erase all trace of James Barnes from his recollection before rewriting his personality on a blank slate. Any time his root personality began to surface, they would wipe his memory and do it again. As such, Barnes sees the Winter Soldier as a completely separate identity from himself. He recalls very little of what he did as the Winter Soldier and talks about him like he's a different person."  
  
"So you're talking like a multiple personality disorder," Fury surmised.  
  
"In a way, yes. If Barnes' root personality had been in control, I don't believe he would have done any of the things he was ordered to as the Winter Soldier."  
"Then what do we do if that personality comes up again?"  
  
"I find it very unlikely that it will. It seems Hydra had to continually reinforce the Winter Soldier persona to keep it in place. Without Hydra, I doubt that personality will come back on its own. Especially if he continues to keep company with Captain Rogers. After meeting him again, their shared past was an integral part in breaking Hydra's hold on Barnes. Rogers is and will continue to be a positive influence on him."  
  
Fury leaned back in his chair, taking a moment to think. "So you suggest we adopt him?"  
  
Adams smiled at the word usage. "I don't see why not. He expressed interest in being a part of whatever Rogers was doing. He could end up to be a very good agent. However, I don't suggest throwing him into the fire just yet. I would like to have a few more sessions with him first. While he seems fine on the surface, you don't go through as much as Sargent Barnes did without some scarring."  
  
"Agreed. There's also the problem of finding anyone who would want to work with him. I don't know how useful he'll be if he constantly follows Steve's shadow."  
  
"May I suggest Agent Gray as a possible field partner for the future? The two seem to work well together."  
  
Fury chewed on that idea for a while. He didn't know if that notion was brilliant or stupid. But he had been wanting Agent Gray to get back in the field for some time. Perhaps this would be the push she needed to take the idea seriously.  
  
"I'll take it under consideration, thank you."  
  
"Anytime." Dr. Adams smiled and signed off.  
  
Fury sat in silence, leaning back in his chair and staring out the floor-to-ceiling window at the city below. The Winter Soldier had been a feared adversary for years- decades. The idea of now having him on their side was something he never would have imagined. But now he was presented with the possibility and it was almost too tempting to pass up.  
  
"Director Fury," came a female voice over his intercom. "Agent Gray is here to see you. She says she needs just a moment of your time."  
  
"Send her in, but tell her a moment is about all I have to spare."  
  
"Will do, sir."  
  
A few seconds later, Marcy stepped into his office. She wore civilian clothes, but there was nothing but serious business in the expression of her face.  
  
"Make it quick, Agent. I have another meeting in five minutes."  
  
"Sir, I have been ordered that I can't go home," Marcy said. "And I think staying at HQ for too long is going to drive me crazy. So I want to go somewhere else where I'll be safe, where Hydra won't find me. I want to go back in the field."  
  
Fury raised a brow at her. He had already been plotting of having Gray train Sargent Barnes in SHIELD protocol as a way to get her working again. But her coming back to the field and of her own volition was even better. Barnes was nowhere near ready for such a thing yet, but there were always other agents.  
  
"Alright, Agent, we'll get you a partner and get you out of here. I know exactly who I want to send with you."  


 

 


End file.
